


Wishes

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-04-15
Updated: 2001-04-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:25:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11334732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: It's R & R time for Mulder and Skinner.





	Wishes

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Wishes by m. butterfly

Wishes  
by m. butterfly  
  
http://Skinner.Mulder.com/walfox  
Rating: NC-17 for m/m explicit sex, language  
Spoilers: SR 819, One Son, slight foreshadowing for Biogenesis  
Summary: It's R & R time for Mulder and Skinner.  
Author's notes: This story occurs before the bizarre happenings of Biogenesis. Beware of schmoop and (gasp!) songfic. Want tons of angst? A Grisham-like plot? You won't find it here, so hit the delete key now. If you're confused about my ubiquitous references to The Simpsons, you may want to read "Wild Walter Skinner's Badasssss Song."  
Acknowledgments: Many thanks to Minotaur for great advice and info about Provincetown. Love and thanks to Susan and Sergeeva for their continued support and inspiration, and, most of all, to the gainfully employed (finally!) Lucy Snowe for beta reading above and beyond the call of duty. All inaccuracies and bad poetry are mine and mine alone.  
Dedication: This is for my dear friends Danni, Diana, dot, Elizabeth, Holmes, Kiyoko, rac, Rosalita, Sergeeva, Wombat and Xanthe, who inspire the hell out of me.

* * *

Wishes  
by m. butterfly

Somewhere on I-95 N  
Saturday, May 29, 1999  
9:07 am

"New York City?"

"No."

"Fire Island?"

Mulder laughed. "No. Good idea, but no."

"Canada, then?"

"Uh-unh."

"Boston."

"Walter-- "

"Cape Cod?"

Mulder tightened his grip on the wheel and looked straight ahead, but couldn't prevent the corners of his mouth from turning up just a bit.

"It *is* Cape Cod, isn't it?" Skinner poked him in the ribs.

"Hey!" he yelped. "No foreplay while I'm driving. Unless you want me to wreck your car."

The older man just chuckled, rested a huge hand on his lover's thigh, and squeezed gently. "Now that I know where we're going, I can take over for a while if you're tired..."

Mulder's hand slipped down over Skinner's and squeezed back. "We've only been on the road a couple of hours, Seymour. I'm not in *that* bad shape. Besides," he said, cutting off Skinner's protest, "you wouldn't let me do anything but sleep last night."

"Well, you said you wanted to get an early start. If you're up for it, I'll keep you from getting *any* sleep tonight." The hand slid a couple more inches up Mulder's thigh.

"Walter, I can't drive with a hard-on" Mulder laughed again, peeling the fingers off his leg. "Stay on *your* side of the car before we have an accident."

Sighing theatrically, Skinner released his grip and angled his body so that he was leaning against the passenger door. Because his legs were so long, his left knee came to rest against Mulder's hip. "How's this?"

Mulder patted the knee. "Nice. Now be a good boy and enjoy the scenery."

"Oh, I am."

Nine times out of ten, Mulder became flustered by Skinner's adulation. He was fully aware that most of the women at the Bureau--and likely a few of the men as well--had the hots for the well-built Assistant Director. But Skinner had chosen Mulder, and the younger man still found it difficult to accept. "You're crazy, Seymour."

"Only about you." He reached over and clasped Mulder's shoulder. "I love you, babe. This is the most awesome thing anyone's ever done for me."

Mulder shrugged. "I'm just returning the favour."

"Yeah, to the power of 10. For *your* birthday all I did was make you dinner and get you football tickets. This trip is worth much more than that."

"Walter," he said, dropping his hand to Skinner's knee again, "I'll never forget that dinner, or the way you made me feel that night. I wanted to do something for *your* birthday to make you feel the same way."

"But two weeks in Cape Cod! It's so--so--"

"Long?"

Skinner cuffed him playfully. "No, you dope. So *extravagant.*"

Mulder relaxed. "Well, I *was* going to take you to Paris--"

"Fox William Mulder!"

"--but this way I didn't have to worry about booking flights or homophobic Parisiennes."

Skinner ruffled Mulder's hair. "Are Parisiennes homophobic?"

"Beats me. But I know for a fact that we won't have any trouble in Provincetown."

"Amen to that."

It had been six months since their last real vacation: an idyllic week in Key West, Florida. Being openly affectionate in public--holding hands, dancing, walking with their arms around each other--had been so liberating. The idea of having two weeks of that kind of freedom made Skinner's pulse race.

He and his wife had visited Cape Cod once but never reached Provincetown for a reason he could no longer remember. And now he was on his way there to celebrate his 47th birthday with his lover and best friend. In a short time, Mulder had become more of a life partner than Sharon had in 17 years.

As he watched Mulder watch the highway, Skinner had to smile to himself. God, how he loved the way the man's mind worked! Toward the end of February, Mulder had informed Skinner come hell or high water, they were going away at the end of May. For two weeks, no less.

"Why then, in particular?" Skinner had asked, knowing damned well why. "Why not April? Or July?"

Of course, Mulder had known that Skinner knew. But he'd played along. "Late May and early June is the best time to go there."

"Where?"

"You'll see."

"Key West?"

"I'm not telling."

And Mulder had kept their destination a secret, refusing to drop so much as a hint.

But there was one question Skinner posed that Mulder felt compelled to answer. After Mulder had packed for both of them last night, making Skinner somewhat nervous, the older man had asked, "How did you find out when my birthday was?"

Mulder couldn't lie to him. "From your driver's licence," he'd said matter-of-factly, hoping the discussion would end there. As if.

"Would that be the driver's licence I keep in my wallet?"

The agent had gone into hyperdrive. "What was I supposed to do? *You* wouldn't tell me, and Kim swore she didn't know, and I couldn't exactly ask Frohike to hack into the Bureau's personnel records, and--Well, aren't you going to yell at me or something?"

Skinner had gripped Mulder's upper arms, looked him dead in the eye, and said, kindly, "Why should I yell? Even before you moved in here, I told you I had nothing to hide from you."

Mulder had looked at his lover with utter confusion. "Then why didn't you just tell me when your birthday was when I asked you?"

"I guess I just wanted to see how resourceful you were."

Yup, Skinner thought as Mulder honked and swore at the Porsche that nearly side-swiped them, his lover was resourceful, all right. And thoughtful, and generous, and more sentimental than he'd probably like to admit.

"Seymour?"

"Yes, Bart, little buddy?"

Mulder snorted. "Didn't your mother ever tell you it's not polite to stare at people?"

"Can I help it if you're so sexy I can't take my eyes off you?"

"Oh, please..."

"I love you, Fox."

"You said that already. What, are you going for some kind of record today?"

"Buzzzzzzzz. Wrong answer. You're supposed to say, 'I love you too, Walter.'"

Mulder sighed. "I love you too, Walter. Happy now?"

"Yes, I am." He leaned forward and caressed the side of Mulder's face. "Very happy."

The next wise-ass remark got stuck in Mulder's throat, and all that came out was, "Me too."

The Brass Key Guesthouse  
Provincetown, MA  
9:35 pm

"Mercy!" the AD exclaimed a la Principal Skinner. His ability to mimic his animated namesake's voice and mannerisms was improving steadily. And beginning to worry him.

But Mulder was perversely delighted, as usual. He stood behind his lover and hugged him, resting his chin on Skinner's shoulder. "Do you like it, Seymour?"

"It's fucking incredible!"

"I'll take that as a 'yes,' then." Mulder kissed the side of Skinner's neck and hugged a little harder. He was enormously pleased with himself.

The cottage was spectacular. It boasted a gas fireplace, refrigerator, TV and VCR, microwave oven, king-sized bed, and private sunning deck. You couldn't get much more romantic than this.

Skinner was too stunned to move, but Mulder was like a kid on a sugar high. He suddenly bounced in front of the older man and grabbed one of his hands. "Come on, Walter. I want to see something."

The "something" in question was the bathroom. When Mulder flicked on the light, both men gasped.

"This is even better than it sounded," Mulder whistled. "I could *live* in here."

The room was huge, with a whirlpool tub big enough for two and another TV, just in case you wanted to watch something while you soaked.

After gawking for several more seconds, Skinner turned to Mulder. "Fox, this must have cost you a damned fortune! You've got to let me help out with--"

They hadn't shared a proper kiss since they'd left Crystal City that morning, and Mulder decided they were long overdue. He didn't let up until Skinner was almost too oxygen-deprived to speak.

"Listen, you," he told him, "I can afford this. My inheritance, remember? It's something I've wanted to do since Valentine's Day, when I didn't get you anything. Not even a card."

Skinner found his voice. "I told you I didn't care about--"

This time, Mulder placed his fingers on Skinner's lips. "I know, but I still want to make it up to you. You've been so good to me, Walter." He rose up on his tiptoes and kissed the smooth forehead. "I want everything to be perfect for your birthday." The next kiss landed on the tip of the nose.

"I appreciate that, but you didn't have to--"

Another kiss. On the mouth.

"Give it up, Walter," Mulder said when he finally finished. "You know how stubborn I can be."

Skinner pocketed his fogged-up glasses, then held Mulder's face between his hands. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I'm just in shock. Thank you, Fox."

"You're welcome." He covered Skinner's hands with his own. "Hungry?"

Now it was Skinner who brought their lips together. "Um-hmmm."

Mulder chuckled and pulled away. "*I'm* open 24 hours, but the restaurants around here aren't. After all the junk food we ate today, I thought you'd want some real food."

"You're buying, I suppose?"

"Walter--"

"Just checking. I'd like to wash up a bit, though. Change my clothes."

"Okay. But we should hurry. We can unpack later."

Skinner was audibly relieved when he opened his suitcase to find a sensible assortment of clothing.

"Hell, Walter! What did you expect? Nothing but Astroglide and sexy underwear?"

"Well--"

Mulder gave him a wicked grin. "I'm saving that for our *next* vacation."

**********

Fat Jack's  
Saturday, May 29  
11:08 pm

Their table was at the front of the restaurant, and they were able to watch the action along Commercial Street through the open window.

"You warm enough?" Skinner reached across and brushed the back of Mulder's hand with his fingertips.

Mulder turned his wrist until his palm touched his lover's. "Uh-huh."

It was after 11 and the place was nearly as empty as the bottle of red wine they'd been sharing. Outside, a few straggling tourists strolled by with swag and ice cream cones, while a greater number of same-sex couples headed for their favourite late-night haunts.

Skinner trickled his fingers over Mulder's upturned palm and the delicate skin on the inside of his wrist. Mulder shivered.

"You sure you're not cold, babe?" Skinner teased. Oh, he was feeling good. Damned good. He'd just eaten the best seafood pasta he'd had in years, accompanied by a great cabernet. And he'd shared this extraordinary meal with Fox Mulder. Fucking amazing.

The younger man shifted a bit in his chair. "I'm getting a bit warm, actually." He lowered his voice. "Walter, you really shouldn't look at me like that when we're in public."

The bigger hand closed possessively over the smaller one as the heated gaze grew even more intense. "Like what?"

"Like--like I'm a piece of pecan pie or something."

Skinner chuckled, a sound as rich and warm as liquid chocolate. "Oh, you're much sweeter than that." He was about to lift Mulder's hand to his mouth as if to prove his point when their waiter reappeared. Skinner tried to squelch his smile as the hand flew back to its owner like a moth to a flame.

"Would you like to look at our dessert menu?" the waiter asked. His name Dave, and he was youngish, blond and well-tanned for this early in the season.

Elbows on the table, Skinner rested his chin in his hands and stared straight into Mulder's eyes. "I already know what I'm having for dessert. And it's not on anybody's menu."

"Walter!" The colour of Mulder's face nearly rivalled that of the wine remaining in his glass.

Grinning, Dave gave Mulder the once-over, then addressed Skinner. "Excellent choice, sir. Should I bring you the check now?"

"Unless you want coffee, Fox..."

Struck mute with embarrassment, Mulder merely shook his head, puppet-style.

"I'll be right back," Dave said, still smiling broadly.

When he was out of earshot, Mulder wiped his face with his napkin. "Jesus, Walter! That's the last time I let you drink at dinner."

There was a devilish gleam in Skinner's eye. "Alcohol has nothing to do with it." He reached across the table to recapture Mulder's hand, but the agent sat back, crossed his arms, and pouted. Prettily. Too prettily. Effortlessly, Skinner hooked his feet around the legs of his partner's chair and pulled it toward him so that their kneecaps banged together. Startled, Mulder's hands shot forward and were snagged in midair before being caught and brought in for a gentle landing.

"Fox. Darling. Baby," Skinner drawled in a dangerously soothing voice. "Relax, okay? We're on vacation. In Provincetown. It's okay to be ourselves here."

Mulder's choler was losing steam. "But the waiter--"

"--has probably seen and heard it all. Besides--" Skinner leaned forward conspiratorially and stage whispered, "--I think he's one of us."

"What? A federal agent?"

That wonderful thunder rumbled up from Skinner's chest again. "God, you're such a brat."

The brat in question rolled his eyes. "Oh, now *there's* a revelation."

This time when Dave approached them, Mulder didn't flinch. But he quickly disengaged one hand to grab the check.

"Fox--"

Mulder waved him off and pulled out his wallet. "I've told you, this trip is on me. Everything. So shut up."

Dave was enjoying this. "Is there anything else I can do for you gentlemen tonight?"

"Yes, there is," said Skinner, to Mulder's surprise. "Could you recommend a place to go dancing?"

"The A-House is the major nightspot," Dave told them. "It's down a little alley just off Commercial Street. The main dance floor's always packed, usually with fairly young guys. You might want to check out the upstairs bar. It's more of a leather bar--"

Mulder's eyebrows lurched up as he counted out several 20-dollar bills.

"--but jeans are okay. It attracts a, uh, more mature crowd."

"Thanks," Skinner said wryly.

"During the day," the waiter continued, "there's the Boatslip, which has a huge deck overlooking the bay. They have a Tea Dance that starts at three, but nobody shows up 'til around five. After that it's 'After-T' at the Pied Piper. Everyone leaves the Boatslip just after six, stops for a slice of pizza at Spiritus, then goes to the Pied for more dancing and drinking." He took out his pad and pen. "Would you like me to write any of this down for you?"

Skinner drank the last of his wine and shook his head. "S'okay. My, uh, friend has an extraordinary memory."

"Ah. Do you need any change?" he asked as Mulder handed him the check and cash.

"Nope. Keep it."

"Thanks," said Dave. "Enjoy your stay in P-town."

But Mulder was confused. "You wanna go dancing, Walter? I thought--"

Skinner stood and smiled down at his lover. "I wanna go dancing sometime over the next two weeks, babe. But not right now." He extended a hand. "Tonight it's just you and me. Okay?" He was giving Mulder the same "I-want-you-for-dessert" look he'd given him earlier.

Mulder allowed himself be helped to his feet. "Okay." Despite having had regular sex with Skinner for more than seven months, he was as anxious to get back to the hotel as if it were their first time. He shivered again when a big, warm hand splayed itself across his lower back to usher him out of the restaurant. The same hand took hold of his far shoulder as Skinner draped an arm around Mulder, who wrapped his own around Skinner's waist.

The walk back to the courtyard cottage was short and brisk.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

For the next couple of days, they were quite happy just to unwind and putter around Provincetown. There was much to see, including the Pilgrim Monument and Provincetown Museum, various art galleries and shops, and miles of sandy beaches.

The Atlantic was still far too cold for swimming, but that didn't stop them from spending their afternoons at same-sex-friendly Herring Cove Beach, soaking up the sun as they read, talked, or walked hand-in-hand. The late May weather was unbelievably hospitable, and they were both bronzing nicely. While the rest of the Eastern Seaboard was experiencing an early heat wave, Cape Cod remained comfortable under clear turquoise skies, tempered by moderate ocean breezes.

Once back at the guest house, they'd take a dip in the courtyard pool before getting ready for dinner. The evenings were just as pleasant as the days, and the lovers slept with the windows open, needing just a sheet--and each other--to keep warm.

Supremely grateful for this idyllic getaway, Skinner took Mulder to see The Phantom Menace at the nearby Wellfleet drive-in on Monday. Of course, they'd already seen the latest Star Wars instalment. Mulder had pressed him to go the night it opened, but the only tickets available were for the midnight screening, and Skinner wasn't interested enough to stay up that late on a week night. They'd settled for the first Friday, and had caught the film at a multiplex in Baltimore. The next night, Mulder had gone again, this time with Scully.

Then, en route to Provincetown, they'd noticed that The Phantom Menace was playing in Wellfleet, and Skinner had been impressed with how Mulder had reined in his obvious enthusiasm. So, even though he wasn't as big a Star Wars fan, Skinner didn't mind seeing the movie a second time. Besides, it *was* a drive-in. They parked in the back row, with nobody on either side of them and, during the less-than-memorable first feature, made out like high school kids on a first date.

The teenager he never was surfaced in Mulder at intermission. He wanted a soda, and candy, and a huge tub of popcorn to share. Skinner could deny him nothing. And was amply rewarded for his indulgence.

About half way through The Phantom Menace, Mulder's mind began to wander. It suddenly occurred to him that this was his chance--maybe his *only* chance--to fulfil a long-standing sexual fantasy involving his favourite Assistant Director. Commandeering the popcorn, he started feeding Skinner, who soon got into the spirit of the game and began licking and sucking the salt off Mulder's teasing fingers. Encouraged by this reaction, Mulder "accidentally" dropped a kernel onto his lover's lap.

"Uh-oh!" His wicked lighthouse of a smile warned of imminent danger. "I'd better get that!"

And he did.

Without using his hands.

And he took his time.

"Fox!" Skinner hissed, squirming with secret delight. "What about the movie?"

The dark head came up. "Hmmm?" Still gripping the tub, he tipped it precariously, dumping a considerable amount of the contents all over Skinner's crotch. "Ooops! Now look what I've done!"

As Mulder went back to using Skinner's lap as a serving tray, the older man grabbed the popcorn and put it out of harm's way, on the dash. His glasses, too. He wasn't watching the film anyway. Then he turned up the volume on the speaker, slid down in the seat, and moaned softly. Mulder wasn't merely gobbling up what he'd spilled; he was nipping at the sensitive skin beneath Skinner's chinos, leaving little wet marks across the crisp tan fabric.

Skinner knew there was no stopping Mulder now. Not that he was complaining. He anchored his hands in Mulder's silky hair as he felt his belt being unbuckled, his zipper pulled down.

"Oh, god! Fox, we shouldn't...this is a family movie..."

Except for a snort, his feeble protest went unnoticed. His trousers were soon splayed wide open, and Mulder was trying to yank them and a skimpy pair of flesh-coloured briefs away from Skinner's blossoming erection.

"Help me here, Walter!"

Skinner mumbled an inane apology and lifted his ass. When his clothing was finally bunched up around his ankles, he sank back down with a small whimper and spread his knees.

As much as he would have preferred to completely undress Skinner and attack every erogenous zone he had, Mulder realized the terrible risk they were taking. Being caught having oral sex in public would ruin them both professionally. With a sigh, he took Skinner's balls in his right hand and used his left to feed the engorged cock into his anxious mouth. He knew his lover was both scared shitless and excited beyond belief. Hell, he was, too.

But he soon found out that Skinner wasn't as far gone as he'd thought. The older man untangled his right hand from Mulder's hair and groped for the front of his jeans. Between the two of them, they managed to free Mulder's cock. Skinner swatted the smaller hand away from it and let Mulder buck into his much larger paw.

Skinner came first, but his quiet intensity had Mulder following in seconds, swallowing his own screams of gratification. However, just before his release, Mulder had a flash of reason and stretched his sweatshirt down to cover Skinner's furiously pumping fist. All that while finishing Skinner off.

After nearly passing out from one of the most forceful orgasms he could remember, Skinner was vaguely aware that his sticky fingers were being...His eyes popped open. Mulder was licking them clean.

"Jesus, Fox," he croaked. "*I* should be doing that." He gasped as Mulder's tongue lapped at the centre of his gooey palm.

"If you really want to taste me that badly..." Mulder sat up, the large dark stain on his light-grey sweatshirt clearly visible, and delicately poked his tongue into Skinner's mouth. It was accepted gladly and quickly divested of all traces of his essence.

Mulder pulled back and smiled the smile of the truly satisfied. "You haven't given me a hand job in a long time," he said as he tucked himself back into his jeans.

Skinner looked sheepish. "Sorry."

"What do you mean, 'sorry?'" Without breaking eye contact, he reached down and started dressing his half-nude partner. "It was great! Very spontaneous."

Skinner raised a lazy eyebrow as he helped Mulder put him back together. "Was it? I mean, were *you*?"

"Seymour, need I remind you whose idea it was to come here tonight?"

The older man groaned at the pun. "Okay, guilty as charged. But did you--"

Mulder wiped at his shirt ineffectually with a paper napkin. "Uh-uh. Carpe diem, you know?" He abandoned the cleanup effort and grabbed his soda. "Thirsty?"

"Very." Skinner reached for the plastic cup, but Mulder shook his head and took a drink himself. He sucked on the straw a second time, then straddled Skinner and tilted his head back. He placed his wet lips firmly over his lover's and both men opened their mouths carefully. The cool, watered-down cola dribbled along Skinner's tongue and down his parched throat.

"More, Walter?"

"Oh, yes. Please."

And damned if he wasn't getting hard again. Mulder, too. Seduction by popcorn and Diet Coke. Only Fox Mulder...

"Is this thing nearly over?" Skinner breathed into Mulder's mouth.

Lethargically, Mulder glanced over his shoulder to see the screen. "Uh, about 15 more minutes. Why?"

//Fifteen minutes,// Skinner thought smugly. Good. It would take 20 minutes to get back to their cottage. This was perfect. He took the soda from Mulder and put it on the floor, then framed Mulder's face with his hands. "Because, my dear boy, you should be ready for a bath and a nice, long blow job by then."

Mulder's eyes widened. "And you call me insatiable! But won't it be kind of late to fool around?"

Skinner chuckled. "Who cares? We can sleep in 'til noon. It's not like we have a meeting or an appointment tomorrow morning."

The younger man played with the hair spilling out from the neck of Skinner's chambray shirt. "Actually, Seymour, we *do*. We're going, uh, whale-watching."

Skinner stopped stroking Mulder's jaw with his thumbs. "Really?"

"Yeah. Do you mind?"

His question was answered by a hearty grin. "Are you kidding? It's something I've always wanted to do. Have you ever?"

"No. Whale-watching didn't start here until 1975...nearly three years after Samantha disappeared. We'd stopped taking family vacations by then."

Skinner kissed his partner's cheek and pulled him in for a hug. "Sorry to bring back painful memories, babe."

"Don't worry about it. You shouldn't be holding me this close, you know. I'm still wet."

"Like I care! Dope." He fastened his hands on Mulder's hips. "Come on. Let's watch the end of the movie."

Mulder slid sideways off Skinner and cuddled up to him. "Walter?"

"Uh-huh?"

"We don't have to be down at the wharf until eleven..."

Skinner smiled as he adjusted his glasses. "Good. We can set the alarm, just in case."

Mulder slipped a hand inside Skinner's shirt. "Yeah. Just in case."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As it turned out, they needed the alarm to wake them up.

But neither had any regrets about a little sleep deprivation. Nothing that some good coffee and a breakfast of waffles and maple syrup couldn't remedy.

Although it was a beautiful day, Mulder suggested they dress in layers, topped by the waterproof windbreakers he'd packed for them.

"Gets pretty cold out on the water, Walter. I'm a New Englander, so I know what I'm talking about."

Sure enough, he did. The sun was warm, but strong winds and the relentless spray coming off the brisk North Atlantic would have forced them to remain in the cabin for most of the 3.5-hour tour if they hadn't been dressed properly.

Well protected from the elements, they planted themselves on the deck of the boat, staying close to one another but not expressing their affection openly. Several families were also present, including a number of children. But every time Mulder spotted some new wonder and grabbed Skinner's arm to get his attention, the older man felt positively buoyant.

They all but ignored the naturalist who was on board, as Mulder provided a far more detailed running commentary.

"Look, Walter! Over there! See it? That's the spout of a humpback!"

"How can you tell? Maybe it's right whale."

"Uh-uh. The humpback's spout is heart-shaped. The right whale has two blow holes, so its spout looks like a pair of ice cream cones joined at the top. Besides, right whales are the rarest and most endangered of all the whales in this part of the world. They--see that, Walter? It *is* a humpback! What a beauty!"

And Skinner was utterly fascinated. Not just by the 60-foot whales, but by the lanky fountain of knowledge he adored. And Mulder was so genuinely interested in everything they saw that day--from the pod of white-sided dolphins riding the bow waves to a blue shark swimming lazily near the surface--that Skinner caught the bug.

"Fox, is that a whale spouting?"

Mulder patted Skinner's shoulder. "Good work, Walter! It's a finback! See how tall the spout is? Those whales are *huge* suckers! Even bigger than humpbacks, but not as big as blue whales. Oh, man, there's the dorsal fin!"

Just before they were scheduled to head back to shore, they were taken to an area where a group of humpbacks had been feeding recently. Mulder explained that the great beasts were known to sometimes "breach," or leap completely out of the water, as they wolfed down vast quantities of krill.

Skinner's eyes were sparkling. "I'd love to see that."

"You just might get your wish, Seymour. And if you do--" he reached into his pocket. "--a permanent record of it would be nice." As Skinner looked on with burning curiosity, Mulder pulled out a one-time-only-use camera that Scully had given him as a going-away gift. She'd been disgusted that the only pictures her friends had brought back from their trip to Key West were taken in an instant photo booth.

Mulder eyed the little camera and wrinkled his nose. "Well, the pictures may not turn out to be so hot, but there's no harm in trying, right? Let's see if it even works."

It took some coaxing, but he convinced a self-conscious Skinner to pose for him, then reluctantly agreed to switch places. Just as Skinner finished taking the picture, they heard someone shout, "There they are!"

It was the group of whales they were hoping to see.

Grabbing the camera out of Skinner's hand, Mulder rushed to the railing and leaned over too far for Skinner's comfort. The wind had picked up, and the boat was bobbing a little crazily. Of course, the fact that *everybody* was now crowded along the same side didn't help.

Without thinking about where he was or who was watching, Skinner stepped up close behind Mulder, rooted his strong legs to the deck, and wrapped his arms around his lover's chest, just under the arms. "Okay, Fox, I've got you."

Mulder never got a chance to say "thanks" because a hungry humpback picked that very moment to breach not 30 feet away from the boat.

Click.

The "oohs" and "ahhhs" died down as the excited tourists waited patiently for another whale to breach. And they weren't disappointed.

Click. Click.

And that was it for the whales. They'd put on a good show, and they were outta there.

As Mulder and Skinner stood at the railing, scanning the horizon for a final glimpse of the humpbacks, someone cleared her throat behind them.

"Uh, excuse me..."

Giving each other a look of caution, they turned slowly and found themselves facing at a middle-aged woman. They'd noticed her earlier, talking to two young teenagers they presumed were her children.

"Can we help you?" Skinner asked a trifle gruffly. Shit! He wasn't even touching Mulder now, just standing beside him, perfectly respectable...

The woman was startled by his tone but stood her ground. "Uh, I saw you taking, uh, pictures of each other earlier, and I was just wondering if, um, you'd like me to take one of the two of you. You know, *together*."

The two men relaxed visibly and shared a quick smile before turning back to the good Samaritan. Skinner's now-friendly expression reassured her that her initial impression of him was correct: he was a decent man, and obviously crazy in love with the guy who was with him.

"That's really nice of you. We'd like that. Fox?"

"Oh! Right." Mulder dug out the camera and handed it to the woman. "Just point and shoot."

"Will do." She shuffled backward. "Could you stand a little closer, please?"

//Oh, what the hell.//

Skinner put his arm around Mulder's shoulder, then felt Mulder's hand settle on his back. "How's that?"

"Perfect," said the photographer. "Smile!"

Click.

She handed the camera back to Mulder. "Hope it turns out."

"I'm sure it will, ma'am," Mulder said, touched by this random act of kindness. "Thank you."

She smiled. "My pleasure. Have a nice afternoon."

"You too," they chimed as she rejoined her children and followed them into the cabin.

Skinner turned Mulder around to face him. "Wow. I thought for a minute there--"

"Yeah, me too." He tapped the camera. "This'll make a nice souvenir."

The older man touched his lover's arm. "Thanks for today, babe. It was incredible."

Mulder glanced at his watch. "You're welcome, but it's only 1:30."

"What's on the agenda for the rest of the day, dare I ask?"

"Well, definitely lunch." He patted his stomach. "The *second* we get back. Then I thought we could relax on our patio instead of going to the beach. Try to erase some of those tan lines."

Skinner gave him a look of mock horror. "Nude sunbathing, Fox? What would the Director say?"

Mulder grinned. "He'd say you were one lucky son-of-a-bitch. I bet he doesn't have a boyfriend who's half as much fun as I am."

"Now there's a safe bet."

"Come on." Mulder plucked at Skinner's sleeve. "Let's go inside and warm up over a cup of coffee."

Skinner was all for that, but he wasn't the least bit cold. In fact, he hadn't felt this warm in a long, long time.

Tuesday, June 1  
3:15 pm

After spending more than three hours at sea, buffeted by a frigid north wind, the afternoon sun felt wonderful on Walter Skinner's skin. He had to admit that he was glad he'd let Mulder talk him into having lunch--lobster rolls and beer--on their private sundeck.

In the nude.

He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and tilted his head back to drain the sweating bottle. A tiny, ice-cold rivulet of water trickled down the inside of his wrist, but it barely registered. He sensed he was being scrutinized and turned to his partner. "What? Did I spill something on me?"

Mulder was wearing one of those lazy smiles that made Skinner's breath catch in his throat. "Nope. Wish you had, though, so I could lick it off."

"Fox!" he shushed. "Keep your voice down! Our neighbours--shit, even the staff!--have been giving us funny enough looks as it is."

"Those are looks of *envy*, Walter. Or admiration. Like I was just giving you. You are so fucking sexy..."

Skinner snorted diffidently as he busied himself with crumpling the waxed paper his sandwich had been wrapped in.

"Besides," Mulder continued reasonably, "there's no one around. They're either at the beach or down by the pool." Despite his assurances, he lowered his voice anyway. "Want another beer?"

"Yeah." He began to rise. "Do you--"

Mulder gently pushed his lover back down onto the lounge chair. "I'll get them." He snatched up the litter and empty bottles, then swaggered into the cottage with them. He could feel Skinner's eyes burning on his ass, and smiled smugly to himself.

When Mulder returned to the patio carrying two more long necks and a small plastic bottle, Skinner had taken off his sun glasses but otherwise hadn't moved an inch. He was squinting at Mulder's swinging cock, which, like his cute little butt, was milky pale compared with the rest of his body. His beautiful body...

Mulder set down the beers, perched on the edge of Skinner's chair, and flipped open the plastic bottle.

"Suntan *oil*, Bart?"

Mulder was the picture of innocence as he poured some into his hand. "Did I buy oil instead of lotion this time? Doh!" He lovingly caressed Skinner's bald pate. "Close your eyes," he said as he spread a fine layer of fragrant oil across his lover's forehead, nose and cheeks. "Don't want you to burn," he purred, this time focusing his attention on protecting ears, chin, neck and throat.

Before he got anywhere near Skinner's cock it was straining. When he finally began stroking it with those warm, slick hands, it was all Skinner could do not to fuck Mulder's palms. //No! No! No!// He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, but when his scrotum was given the Coppertone treatment, he tapped Mulder's wrist.

"That's enough, Fox," he warned pleasantly through tight lips.

Mulder just grinned. "Anything you say, Seymour." But the way he massaged Skinner's legs and feet only made his erection more, well, *erect*.

The wily agent stood up and admired his handiwork. "Naked and oiled up is definitely a good look for you, Walter."

Skinner pushed a lever on the side of the lounge chair and leaned back until he was lying flat. "Thanks," he said sunnily, putting his shades on and desperately trying to ignore the incessant throbbing that was coming from his groin.

"Uh, excuse me." Mulder nudged Skinner's thigh with his knee. "What about me?"

Biting back a smile, Skinner peeked out from behind dark glasses to see Mulder's cock pointing at him accusingly. "Oh, you want me to..." He made a little rubbing motion with his hand.

"Please. If it's not too much trouble, that is." Mulder tossed him the bottle of oil and slumped down into his own chair.

Groaning theatrically, Skinner moved over to where Mulder was sitting. He tried to apply the oil with as much detachment as he could muster, but his every touch was greeted with whimpering and writhing.

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw himself on top of Mulder and hump them both into a coma. But he knew that waiting would be far more rewarding.

He tended to Mulder's genitals last; the balls were supersensitive, the cock shamelessly hard. Exerting monumental self-control, Skinner patted Mulder's thigh and lumbered to his feet.

Mulder's heavy-lidded eyes flew open. "What--where ya goin'?"

Now Skinner feigned innocence. "To get some sun. What else?" He stretched out on his chair, his glossy hard-on lying brazenly against his stomach.

Mulder took a long swig of beer, then brushed his mouth with the back of his hand. "Would you like some more oil?"

"No thanks." His tone was neutral, but his desire was going into overdrive. "I'm fine. I'll let you know when I need my back done."

"When do you think that'll be?"

He shrugged minimally. "Dunno. Half an hour? Forty minutes?"

"Half an--?" Mulder banged his bottle down onto the table. "So you mean to tell me that you're going to let a perfectly good erection--no, *two* perfectly good erections--go to waste?"

Teasing Mulder was *so* much fun. Skinner ghosted a hand down his body and ran it along his own cock. "Didn't realize this thing was still hard. Yours too?"

That's when Mulder noticed the tiny twitch at the corner of Skinner's mouth. He smoothed the towel under him, lay back, and feigned a yawn. "Yeah, well, mine's not *that* hard anymore. Walter?"

"Mmmm?"

"Wake me up if I fall asleep, okay?"

Skinner stifled a chuckle. The brat knew! He *knew*! Hell, they were made for each other. "Only if I don't nod off first."

For the next 10 minutes, they sipped at their beers and thought of nothing but jumping each other and waited to see who would break first.

"Fox. You awake?"

Mulder stretched extravagantly. "Sort of. Why?"

"Wanna do my back now?"

"Yeah. I guess."

Skinner swallowed a grin and rolled onto his stomach carefully.

Mulder practically flew over to the other chair. But instead of sitting on the edge like the last time, he straddled his lover's hips. Skinner could feel Mulder's cock twitching against his lower back as the younger man drizzled oil across his broad, bronze shoulders and worked it into the muscular flesh.

Mulder slid down Skinner's body until he was sitting on the backs of his knees, kneading those meaty cheeks with strong, slippery hands. He leaned over and ran his tongue along the back of Skinner's neck, from ear to ear.

"Feel good, Walter?" he whispered into one of them.

"Oh, yeah," he breathed. "Don't stop..."

"I have no intention of stopping." Mulder touched the tip of the bottle to the base of Skinner's spine and watched as a clear viscous stream flowed into the crack of his ass.

"You're just dying to top me, aren't you, Fox?"

Mulder froze, startled that his mind was suddenly so easy to read. "Uh, uh, well, I, uh--"

//Now who's in control?// Although he was pinned down by Mulder's weight across his lower legs, Skinner managed to twist his torso enough to face his flustered lover. "You want to fuck me, Fox. You've been ogling my ass ever since we got here. You hardly ever ask, but I know you want to do it now."

"Walter--"

"*I* want you to. I want you to fuck me."

The man had chosen a helluva time to redefine the term "oral sex." Mulder groaned. "Stop talking like that or I'll come right now and won't be *able* to fuck you!"

Skinner laughed so deeply, so goddamned sensually, that Mulder actually cried out...but his cries were quickly muffled by that laughing mouth--Skinner had managed to sit up and kiss him without toppling him--and he was on his feet and being propelled backward into the cottage. He pulled his lips away and scrabbled half-heartedly at Skinner's solid chest.

"Where are we going? I thought--"

Without taking his smoldering eyes off Mulder, Skinner reached behind him and slid the patio doors shut. "Two reasons we're *not* going to make love out there. One: those chairs are too narrow and uncomfortable to fuck or be fucked on. Two: I'm gonna make a lot of noise, and I don't want the police showing up at our door." He started pushing Mulder toward the bed. "Any objections?"

Just in case Mulder *did* have some, Skinner swooped in and brought their mouths together again.

They were still kissing passionately when the backs of Mulder's knees hit the mattress. In one graceful motion, Skinner swept the comforter onto the floor before easing Mulder and himself onto the cool cotton sheets. But Skinner was so sleek, front and back, that Mulder had a hard time holding on.

The human seal grunted and flopped onto his stomach, stuffing two pillows under his hips. "Go on. Finish what you started outside."

Dizzily, Mulder sat up to admire the glistening mountain of flesh and bone that rose from the middle of the bed, then gasped when the legs that were helping prop up that mountain began to spread apart. He groped blindly for the lubricant du jour and squeezed a generous amount into the valley between the twin peaks. He used his thumb to spread the sun-warmed liquid all the way down to Skinner's balls, which were so lovely and plump, resting on the pillow like precious stones. Mulder slipped his hand under them and palmed them without closing his grip, relishing the sensation of having them literally slip through his fingers.

A tremulous moan from Skinner had Mulder withdrawing the hand immediately and dragging his thumb back up the perineum to the gleaming, beckoning hole. He caressed the highly sensitive opening for several minutes before inserting a practised finger. About half an inch in, he pressed his fingertip against the side and felt both sphincter muscles. Skinner shuddered.

"Z'that good, Walter?"

"Ohhhhh...God, yeah."

The external ring of muscle yielded without hesitation to welcome Mulder's finger, which sank another quarter of an inch into his lover's willing body.

"That's it, Walter. Beautiful. Just relax..."

And he did. He sucked in a lungful of air and relaxed the internal sphincter. Mulder's finger was now a part of him, stretching him, opening him, fucking him.

"So good. So goddamned good, Fox."

Mulder used more oil and another finger to prepare Skinner for his cock. He worked patiently, thoroughly, tamping his own raging desire down so that he could focus solely on Skinner's safety and pleasure. He purposely avoided any and all contact with his lover's prostate, certain that it would end things before they ever really got started. Skinner was thrashing about as it was, not to mention breathing heavily and mumbling inanities into the mattress.

"How do you want it?" Mulder asked when he had three well-lubed digits deeply planted in Skinner's anus.

"Wanna look at you. Oh, Christ Jesus! Now! Please, now!"

Mulder's fingers slid out with a resounding pop. He helped roll Skinner onto his back and positioned himself between the firm, quivering thighs. God, but Skinner's cock was splendid--long and thick and well-defined, but also bone-dry and purpled from being humped into the pile of pillows. Mulder positively ached to touch it, to see it wet and shiny again. He poured some oil into his hands, rubbed them together, and began administering a light massage.

Skinner still had some wits left, and used the last of the oil to grease up Mulder's erection.

"Okay, okay, okay," he panted. "Ready." He bent his knees, brought them toward his shoulders, and spread them wide. He rocked back a bit, grabbing his thighs from behind. "Take me, babe. I'm yours."

"Oh, dear God." Mulder had started this whole thing, but he was no longer the seducer. No, now it was *he* who was charmed and disarmed. He'd do anything and everything for the fine, fine man who was offering himself so freely.

"I want you, Walter. I love you..." Mulder guided the head of his cock to Skinner's opening and pushed it in gently.

"Love you, too," Skinner wheezed. "Want you in me. So fucking badly." He let go of his legs long enough to grab Mulder from behind and push him forward.

Both men yelped as Mulder's cock glided all the way in and jabbed Skinner's prostate.

"Christ, are you okay?"

Skinner laughed weakly, tightening the grip on his thighs. "Oh, I'm *so* good. Do it again."

Mulder licked away a bead of sweat, pulled most of the way out, then slid forward until his balls thwacked against Skinner's ass. Lowering himself onto his elbows, he cupped his lover's face and kissed him fiercely. Skinner moaned loudly and arched his back to meet each thrust of Mulder's cock, tilted his head to allow Mulder's tongue to fuck his mouth with equal zeal.

When Skinner began clenching and unclenching his outer ring of muscle, Mulder snaked a hand down to Skinner's cock, which was trapped between their sweaty, oily torsos. Leaning heavily on his left arm, he began to pump the slippery erection.

Skinner's body was quaking under Mulder's, his limbs flailing almost spastically as he tried to breathe through his nose. Sensing his partner's predicament--and needing some air himself--Mulder released Skinner's mouth and pulled the long, heavy legs up onto his shoulders.

"Come. For. Me. Walter," he rasped raggedly as he took hold of Skinner's cock again.

"Then fuck me! Do it! Do it!"

They looked at each other for as long as they could, but their lovemaking soon became too intense to even consider such trivial bodily functions as keeping one's eyes open.

As orgasm approached, Mulder thought fleetingly about how seldom they did it this way. It was obvious that Skinner loved being fucked. And Mulder loved to fuck him. So why didn't he top more often? Was it because he preferred being on the receiving end? More like he didn't believe he deserved the privilege...the privilege of making love to this wonderful, generous man. Fucking him. Fuck...

And right before *he* came, Skinner marvelled over their new-found stamina. At home, they usually made love every second day--mostly blowjobs, but they had anal sex at least once a week. Nothing wrong with that, especially at their ages. But since they'd been in Provincetown--holy fucking shit, Batman! It was like they could get it up on demand. They hadn't been this insatiable since their trip to Key West over the Christmas holidays. If getting away from the office was all it took to make them fuck like rabbits, maybe they both should take early retirement. Fuck...

"Oh, fuck!"

"Fuck, oh, fuck!"

Mulder's ears were still ringing long after they came.

"Seymour," he muttered thickly into Skinner's semen-sticky chest, "the next time I try to talk you into doing it on the balcony in the dead of the night, remind me about this afternoon, okay? If I can still *hear*, that is."

"Sure, babe." He would have said more--like, "I warned you," for instance--but his throat was about as sore as his ass.

He chuckled anyway.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The A-House  
10:45 pm

The waiter at Fat Jack's knew what he was talking about: the A-House was *the* P-town nightspot. If it was this crowded on a Tuesday, Skinner mused, imagine what it would be like on weekends.

They'd started the evening off in the "little bar," which was home to some rather interesting Tennessee Williams memorabilia, including a portrait of the late playwright au naturel.

When they'd finished their drinks, they made their way over to the Big Room dance bar. It was filled with bodies--mostly young, mostly male, mostly beautiful, and mostly shirtless.

Skinner's fingers tightened around Mulder's, a clear indication of his unease. Mulder tugged gently toward the dance floor, but Skinner was rooted firmly, squinting across the room, looking for people closer to his own age. He'd dropped his wirerims off at the cottage after dinner and now regretted the decision. He could see only what was closest to him: a sea of unlined faces, lean bodies, and full heads of hair without a strand of grey in sight.

"Come on, Walter," Mulder shouted above the din.

"Too old," he replied, his dark eyes so melancholy that Mulder's stomach lurched. He stepped closer to Skinner and pressed his lips against his ear.

"That's bullshit. You've got the body of a 25-year-old. You're the sexiest man here. And you're mine. Dance with me."

"Fox--"

Mulder jerked his head toward the bar. "See the way they're looking at you? Hell, Seymour. Do I have to draw you a picture?"

Skinner shook his head. "They're not looking at *me*, boy."

Mulder laughed. "How the hell would you know? You can't even see over there. Trust me, Walter. *You're* the main attraction. Come on and show them who you belong to."

Grudgingly, Skinner let Mulder pull him onto the floor. He didn't want to ruin Mulder's vacation, but he felt elderly and unattractive and out of place in this playground for twenty and thirty somethings.

Mulder felt otherwise. The way he saw it, Skinner's size and physique and rugged good looks made him stand out like a god among mere mortals. And, without his glasses, the AD appeared more youthful than he normally did. Even *more* gorgeous and desirable. Mulder linked his fingers behind Skinner's neck and began to move suggestively against him to the pulsing beat. He kept his eyes locked with his lover's, ignoring everyone else in the place.

Mesmerized by the snake charmer's gaze, Skinner placed his hands on Mulder's hips and swayed to the music with him. They danced for more than an hour, until they were dripping with sweat and hotter than hell.

"Let's get something to drink," Mulder said in a normal voice as the music faded before the next song kicked in.

Hand in hand, they inched their way over to the bar. When they finally got their beers, they took them out onto the deck so they could talk without straining their abused vocal chords any further. The sky was clear and bright, and Mulder amused and delighted Skinner by pointing out the various planets and constellations.

"You're a great dancer, Walter."

The non sequitur didn't phase Skinner in the least. "Yeah. Patrick Swayze would be green with envy."

Mulder patted the front of Skinner's damp shirt. "He would, you know."

"You're biased," he snorted.

"And you're too modest." He drained his bottle. "Wanna go? We could watch CNN in the tub..."

Skinner didn't see that one coming. "Are you sure?"

"Yup. We can come back some other time. Take me home, sailor."

"Aye, aye, captain."

Leaving the bar with his arm draped possessively around Mulder, Skinner felt pretty damned good.

He was positively cheerful by the time he drifted off to sleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thursday, June 3  
7:14 am

Even as he surfaced from a dreamless slumber, Skinner was aware of two anomalies: he was alone in the bed, and coffee was brewing. Over the past eight months, he could count on one hand--half a hand, really--the number of times Mulder'd been the first one up and at 'em in the morning. So why on earth...?

Skinner's subtle stirrings were immediately detected by Mulder, who launched himself across the room like an eager puppy. He landed with a bounce on the mattress, facing Skinner, and gave him an enthusiastic kiss. "Happy Birthday, Walter!"

"No complaints so far." The older man blinked the sleep from his eyes and gave his lover the once-over. "Except that you're dressed."

"That can be easily remedied." Mulder toed off one running shoe. "I didn't think going to the bakery naked and smelling like a pole cat would impress them much." The other shoe hit the floor with a thud.

Skinner slipped his hands under Mulder's t-shirt and helped him slide it up his torso, over his head. "Well, that would depend who was working there, wouldn't it?" He couldn't make out the muffled response, so he carried on. "Bakery, huh? What you'd get?"

A grinning mouth suddenly appeared, followed by an endearingly prominent nose, twinkling hazel eyes, and a untamed mop of dark hair. "I don't know what they're called, but they sure look good. Smell good, too. Fresh and hot and flaky..." The shirt was tossed unceremoniously onto the floor. "Am I making you hungry yet?"

Skinner threw back the cotton sheet to reveal an erection that was impressive in its own right, but especially so after the previous evening's activities. "What do you think?"

"Oh, yeah," he swallowed, staring appreciatively at the ample cock.

Skinner scrambled to his feet, raced to the foot of the bed, and stripped off the rest of Mulder's clothes to find him equally aroused. "*You* must be starving."

"Come here, then, and give me something to eat."

Despite his desire to pounce, Skinner backwalked toward the bathroom. "I need to take care of something first, babe."

Making eye contact at last, Mulder reached down and lazily stroked himself. "Hurry."

If Skinner's bladder hadn't been full... But it *was*, and now that he was up, he figured he might as well brush his teeth and shave, too.

"That was fast!" Mulder exclaimed when the big man reappeared only minutes later.

Skinner slid back into bed. "But this won't be..."

"No," he agreed. "Lie down, Walter. It's time for your first gift."

"Oh?" He looked up at the naked man who was now straddling him, wondering what particular atrocities the brat had planned to start the day. He half expected Mulder to produce a paddle from behind his back and turn him over one knee. But, as usual, there were some things he could just never predict...

"One kiss," Mulder told him earnestly, "for every birthday."

Mulder's mouth was so sweet... From the moment Walter Skinner had first seen it, he'd been drawn to it like a bee to a rose. Now he moaned ecstatically as moist, petal-soft lips pressed against his own, possessing him, devouring him. Mulder held Skinner's head in place and sucked Skinner's tongue into his own mouth while the new 47-year-old ran desperate hands through Mulder's hair, down his back, along his thighs and arms.

After what seemed like a blissful eternity, Mulder gently extracted his lower lip from Skinner's teeth and sat up, eyes and hair wild. "One," he said breathlessly. He found Skinner's hands--one on his ass, the other on his chest--and pinned them above Skinner's head beyond the pillow. "Now for the other 46."

"Oh, god..."

Mulder's head dipped forward again, but this time Skinner's eyelids were the targets. Those tender kisses were followed by a chaste peck on the tip of his nose, but Skinner broke out in gooseflesh when a velvety tongue traced a path up to his forehead, where a wet, noisy kiss was planted. Then Mulder placed his lips and tongue higher up, on Skinner's bare scalp, and dragged them back and forth across the wide expanse of satiny skin.

"Jesus, Fox--"

"That's six..."

Temples, cheeks, ears, neck and throat... Mulder was thorough. Collarbones, shoulders, underarms, crooks of elbows, insides of wrists, palms, each finger and thumb... Even when Mulder could no longer reach his hands, Skinner kept them above his head, clutching the headboard as though it would keep him grounded.

Gradually, Mulder worked his way down Skinner's body, studiously avoiding his genitals. Nipples, navel, hips bones, inner thighs, kneecaps, ankles, toes, the arches of both feet... Skinner had stopped counting long ago, but almost wished he were Methuselah.

And, finally, Mulder was kneeling between Skinner's long legs, lifting the heavy scrotum and bringing it to his mouth. He kissed one ball, then the other, rolling each between his fingers while his lips brushed the wrinkly skin.

Moaning louder now, Skinner released his death grip on the headboard and tangled his fingers in Mulder's hair. But he didn't push. Sure, Mulder was torturing him, but it was such *exquisite* torture. It still amazed him that it took a physical relationship with another man to make him wake up and appreciate the fine art of foreplay.

Mulder took Skinner's cock in one hand, leaned forward, and kissed the tip lightly. When he brought his head back up to catch Skinner's eye, his lips were slick with pre-cum. "Forty-seven."

"Now what?" Skinner croaked. He was surprised he could talk at all at this point.

"Now I take you in my mouth until you're really, really hard, and then you fuck my brains out--anyway you like, of course."

With a shaky hand, Skinner stroked the side of Mulder's face. "But I fucked your brains out last night, and--"

And it had been frighteningly savage. Mulder had begged him to let go of all his inhibitions, to do it harder and faster and wilder than ever before. He'd cajoled and seduced and provoked until Skinner's last thread of restraint completely snapped. When it was over, Skinner was mortified, but Mulder had never looked more smug or satisfied. Or well-fucked.

"And it was so good you want to do it again." Mulder rubbed his cheek against the comforting hand.

"But--but not the same way," Skinner whispered, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I want to make love to you slowly. And you have to tell me if it hurts."

Mulder smiled. "I'm fine. I'll *be* fine."

"Fox--"

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you." He looked down and noticed that Skinner's erection had begun to wilt. "Now, where was I?"

Within minutes, Mulder's lips and tongue and teeth had restored Skinner's cock to its previous granite-like glory. And because Skinner had come so forcefully just a few hours ago, Mulder realized he could suck fairly long and hard without worry. When his jaw began to really ache, he released the throbbing organ and kissed his way up Skinner's chest.

"Fuck me now, Walter."

"Ah, the impatience of youth..."

Effortlessly, Skinner reversed their positions, trapping the slighter body beneath his. Mulder's mouth was half open in a startled smile, and Skinner couldn't resist covering it with his own.

Now it was his turn to blanket Mulder with kisses. The man tasted so good, and made such incredibly sexy sounds, that Skinner enjoyed being the bestower of kisses almost as much as being on the receiving end. He shivered every time his engorged cock brushed Mulder's body, but he was in no hurry to get his rocks off this morning. It was *his* birthday, and they were going to do things *his* way.

By the time Skinner had reached Mulder's groin, the off-duty agent had tugged the fitted sheet loose from its moorings and was twisting fistfuls of crisp blue cotton. He was also chanting mostly nonsense, but Skinner could make out the occasional colourful oath and vow of undying love and devotion.

While Mulder exhibited extraordinary oral skills, Skinner was no slouch himself. Mulder squirmed and squealed as his cock and balls were expertly licked and sucked. It took all his concentration to keep himself reigned in. But he nearly lost it when his legs were gently parted and pushed out of the way so that Skinner's tongue could reach his perineum and anus.

"Walter!" he gasped, peering down at Skinner. "What are you--you shouldn't be--it's *your* birthday--"

"--And nothing would give me greater pleasure than to tongue-fuck you, okay?" He wouldn't admit it, but it also gave him the chance to check Mulder out and make sure that their frantic lovemaking from the night before hadn't caused any damage. Skinner sighed inwardly with relief that Mulder looked all right. Tenderly, he kissed and licked at the angry puckered opening, and was immediately rewarded with a watery groan from his lover.

Rimming--it was something Skinner had never even fantasized about until he met Mulder. And once he discovered it, he could neither get nor give enough. Especially give. It made Mulder absolutely crazy, and that turned Skinner on like nothing else.

"Christ, Walter, so good, so fucking good, god I love you, Jesus Christ, oh, man..." Mulder's incessant babble was getting faster with every tongue stroke, every loving stab. "Inside me--now--'mready..."

It certainly *felt* as though Mulder was relaxed and ready, but there was no way in hell Skinner was going in without plenty of lube. Mulder whined when Skinner grabbed the Astroglide from the bedside table, but his protests went unheeded. Skinner slicked himself up but good and worked a considerable amount into Mulder's asshole.

"See?" Mulder gulped as one, then two thick fingers slid into him easily.

Without removing his fingers, Skinner brought Mulder's legs down and rolled him over onto his side. "Won't risk hurting you, babe. Never." He snuggled in tight, his chest against Mulder's back, and replaced his fingers with the head of his cock when Mulder lifted his top leg. Slowly--much slower than Mulder would have liked, but he wasn't going to argue today--Skinner pushed his way in, frequently pausing to let Mulder's body adjust. When he was satisfied that Mulder was indeed ready for him, he wrapped his arms around his lover and curled his fingers around his straining shaft.

The worst thing about this position was not being able to watch each other's expressions. And it was just too tame for Mulder's taste most of the time. But Skinner loved being able to bury his face in the back of Mulder's neck, in his hair; to tickle Mulder's ear with his tongue and whisper idiotic endearments; to stroke his chest with one hand and his cock with the other; to hold him close while he fucked him leisurely and thoroughly.

Eventually, Mulder started simultaneously bucking backward onto Skinner's cock and forward into his kneading fingers. The hand that had been fondling Mulder's nipples now dropped down to his balls and squeezed carefully.

"Close, Walter, so close..."

Mulder's outside hand shot around behind him to latch onto Skinner's ass; the other came to rest atop the big hand that was now pumping his cock steadily. He licked away the rivulet of sweat that was rolling down his contorted face. "Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please..."

Skinner, too, was dripping, and every time he slammed into Mulder's ass, his chest squelched against Mulder's back. He tightened his grip on the slippery cock. "Come for me, baby. Come on, Fox. Come on." He angled his hips slightly until he found Mulder's prostate, and that did it. Mulder came all over their hands, and his orgasm triggered his partner's.

It took several minutes for Skinner to figure out which planet he was on. Using the sheet, he wiped them off as best as he could, then turned Mulder around and took him in his arms. "You all right, babe?"

The look of genuine concern he was getting might have pissed Mulder off. Much to his own surprise, he laughed. "Christ, Walter! This isn't the first time you've fucked me more than once in a 12-hour period. I think I'll live."

Skinner forced a smile, but his eyes were lousy liars. "I know, Fox. But last night was so--"

"Fun?" Mulder supplied.

"I was going to say 'rough.' What the hell got into you, anyway?"

"All eight inches of *you*, Seymour! I've never had my uvula tickled from *underneath* before."

Skinner gaped. "You're a very disturbed individual." But he couldn't hold back the grin.

"Well, you love me, so what does that say about you?"

"That I'm a really lucky guy." He kissed Mulder's feverish brow. "Thanks for the great birthday."

Mulder sat up. "It's not over yet. I still have to feed you breakfast. Hey! Let's have it in the tub."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Clean, stuffed with good pastries and coffee, and dressed in cutoffs and a T-shirt, Skinner sat at the small table with his arms folded across his chest.

"Fox, you've gone completely overboard," he grumbled, staring at the enormous Barney and Friends gift bag in front of him.

"You're right," Mulder said thoughtfully, rubbing at his chin. "Barney's a bit much. I should have gone with Teletubbies."

Skinner playfully thwacked him on the side of the head, and struggled to remain straight-faced. "I'm serious! This trip is enough of a present for my next five birthdays."

Mulder pushed the garish bag toward him. "Just make your sugar daddy happy and open the damned thing, would you?"

With a final stern look, Skinner reached in and pulled out a handful of purple tissue. He was about to lay it aside when Mulder told him to unwrap it. Skinner obeyed, then held up a small foil-wrapped cylinder.

"Tums?"

"Keep going."

The next blob of tissue--this one yellow--contained a bottle of Extra-Strength Tylenol.

"What is this, babe? The 'how-to-survive-Fox-Mulder' kit?"

"Ha, ha, ha, Seymour. You're a riot. There's more."

Indeed there was. Geritol. Dentu-Creme. But it was the Depends that got Skinner off his ass and chasing a shrieking Mulder around the cottage.

"I'll show you who needs adult diapers," he snorted after tackling Mulder on the bed and tickling him into submission.

The agitator wiped at his eyes. "Back to the table, Walter. You're still not done."

"What? Don't tell me you've got a walker in there."

"Nah. Couldn't find a collapsible one. Get off me, you big bully."

Skinner took his seat and pulled the last item from the bag. Cocooned amid gaudy floral tissue was a small box.

"Fox," came the warning, "this doesn't look like another gag gift..."

Mulder shrugged. "Appearances can be deceiving, Seymour. Go on."

Skinner opened the box. It was a watch--with a black leather wristband and a dial that featured a close-up of Bart Simpson's face. Without hesitation, Skinner slipped off his Timex Ironman so he could replace it with his new timepiece. But his hands were all thumbs suddenly, so Mulder sauntered over and helped him put it on.

"I know it's dumb, but I thought it would remind you of me," he said nonchalantly.

"It's not dumb. I love it." Skinner cleared his throat and pulled Mulder up against him. "I love *you*. Thanks." He gave his partner a brief but hard kiss. "Can we go for our walk now?"

"Uh..." Mulder rose and went over to the closet. "In just a minute."

This was getting downright embarrassing. Skinner took off his glasses, squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Fox, that had better not be another goddamned gift..."

Mulder paused at the door. "Walter, I *had* to get you something besides this vacation. Something tangible. Something that, 10 years from now, you could look at and say, 'Oh, yeah! Mulder gave me that for my 47th birthday.'"

"I could say that about *this*!" Skinner held up his wrist.

"Oh, right! I may be easy as hell, but I'm not cheap."

Skinner started reading Mulder the riot act, but stopped in mid-rant when he realized what had just been removed from the closet. Mulder walked to the table and placed the guitar case in front of him. Reverently, Skinner opened the case. "Jesus! It's a Gibson!" He lifted the acoustic six-string onto his lap and strummed it. It was beautiful.

"There's an electronic tuner in there somewhere," Mulder told him softly. "A bunch of picks, too."

Skinner stared at him, flabbergasted. He'd mentioned to Mulder once, maybe twice, that he used to play years ago. And the wonderful brat had remembered...

"Oh, shit!" Mulder jumped up and started digging through one of his clothing drawers. "I nearly forgot..."

Skinner was too stunned to scold him again, but his fears were groundless, as nothing more than a square white envelope was unearthed from the pile of socks and underwear and t-shirts.

"Birthday card!" Mulder crowed triumphantly. "Here."

Silently, Skinner put the guitar back in its case and opened the card. The front was a sepia-toned photograph of a lighthouse, and Skinner smiled. Turning to the inside, he found a poem, neatly and painstakingly copied in Mulder's hand.

The day we met my mind and heart were far  
From thoughts of love; you seemed to me a foe.  
But over time you proved the friend you are  
And my respect for you began to grow.  
I cannot count how oft you stood by me  
As no one had before, and I was awed.  
What drives a man like you to set wits free?  
To put his faith in one so clearly flawed?  
You joined me in my quest to seek the truth  
And risked so much for nothing in return  
Except the fading glories of my youth  
Which you accept with grace, and never spurn.  
Do no discount the pledges from my soul  
For you alone I trust to keep me whole.

He read it a second time. His eyes were huge.

"This is about *us*. You--you *wrote* this? For me?"

Mulder blushed. "Yeah, it's a sonnet. Elizabethan. Sorry it's not very good. I used to write a lot of poetry at Oxford. But it's been ages and I'm pretty rusty..."

Skinner was overwhelmed--and trying not to show it. "Rusty, my ass! I'm no expert when it comes to poetry, but I'm not a Philistine, either. It's fucking wonderful. Christ! It would have been enough. This-- " He nodded toward the guitar and his bag of loot. "This is too much." Then he made the mistake of looking at the watch, at the silly bug-eyed face of Bart Simpson, his lover's cartoon alter-ego.

"Walter?" When Skinner refused to look up, Mulder reached for his chin and discovered, to his dismay, that it was wet. "Walter, what's the matter? If you don't like the guitar, you can exchange it for another one."

Skinner raised his head and smiled crookedly through sparkling lashes. "Idiot! Touch my Gibson and I'll have you transcribing wiretaps for a month."

"So what's the problem, Sir?"

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Nothing. Except that I'm turning into a sentimental old fool. Get over here."

Mulder looked sceptical. "You're not going to smack me or tickle me again, are you?"

Skinner chuckled. "No. I just want you

//to hold me//

to come here."

Mulder slid easily onto Skinner's lap, and they wound their arms around each other, rocking gently.

"You know, Walter, this isn't a pissing contest." Mulder's fingers combed through what remained of Skinner's hair. "I really enjoy giving you things. Doing things for you. I've never done anything like this before, and I like it."

Skinner sighed against the soft aromatic skin of Mulder's neck. "Just don't blow your entire inheritance on me, Fox. You've got your future to think of."

Mulder made Skinner look at him, then kissed his forehead. "*You* are my future."

And he was so sincere, so serious, that Skinner had to turn away and press his face against Mulder's chest. For once, Mulder kept his mouth shut, just held on tight and let the other man compose himself. He was learning to recognize those times that called for a soothing touch rather than the wisest of words.

And this was definitely one of those times.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The Brass Key Guest House  
Thursday, June 3  
10:52 am

"Sing something for me."

Skinner adjusted the thick leather guitar strap that Scully had sent for his birthday. "I told you before. I can't sing."

Mulder looked up from where he sat at Skinner's bare feet. "I beg to differ. You sing in the shower, while you're cooking, in the car... Believe me, Walter, you can sing. So sing."

"And you call *me* bossy! Shit, I'm still try to remember what notes the strings are. The basic chords. It's been so long..." His face was scrunched in deep concentration, but his big fingers nimbly picked out a simple tune.

"All right!" Mulder encouraged, clapping his hands with child-like pleasure. "Play it again! But *sing* this time."

Skinner scowled down at his partner. "Fox, I'm 47 years old. I am *not* going to sing 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star' to my lover."

"Aw, come on, Walter! I'll teach you the words."

"I *know* the damned words! I'm just not going to sing them."

"I'll start. Ready? One, two, thr-"

"Fox!" It was killing Skinner not to laugh. But he *did* have a reputation to uphold.

"Okay, okay. Geez, what a grouch. Play something *you* like, then."

Eventually, Skinner found a song he more or less remembered. After figuring out the melody, he began to hum and, finally, crooned a few verses of "Love Me Tender" to a thoroughly delighted Mulder. The enthusiastic praise he received for his efforts turned him pink to the tips of his ears.

"I wish I hadn't gotten rid of all my old song books," he mused.

Mulder lifted one of Skinner's feet onto his lap and began massaging it. "There's a music store in town. We can get you some new ones."

Skinner leaned forward to ruffle Mulder's hair. "Actually, I'd like to do some shopping. Something caught my eye the other day."

"Uh-oh."

The guitar was gently put aside. "What?"

Mulder clambered up onto Skinner's lap and stroked his bare head. "You've got that look..."

"What look?"

"That 'I'm-going-to-make-Mulder-do-something-he's-not-going-to-like-much' look."

Skinner's grin was decidedly lopsided. "As if I could make you do anything you didn't want to do, Mr. Francis the Talking Mule."

"You calling me stubborn, Skinner?"

He locked his arms around the younger man's waist. "Yeah, Mulder, I'm calling you stubborn. What are you going to do about it?"

"Well, since it's your birthday--nothing. But just you wait 'til tomorrow, pal."

"Ooooh, I'm shaking."

"I'd call you a bastard, but I'm trying to be nice."

"You're doing a helluva job, Fox. But there's something I've just got to know..."

"What's that?"

"How in the world did you sneak all these gifts past me? We've been together day and night since we got here."

"Trade secret, Seymour."

"I think you've been investigating X-Files too long. You're beginning to scare me."

"Yeah, well, take it up with my supervisor when he gets back from his vacation. Now, tell me: how do you want to spend the rest of your birthday?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Walter Skinner had the energy and stamina of a man half his age. Fortunately, Fox Mulder was just hyper enough to keep up with him.

Following the most unusual shopping experience of Mulder's life, they had lunch, went inline skating along the popular Cape Cod Rail Trail, took a barefoot stroll up and down the beach, and horsed around in the Brass Key's pool.

For dinner, they got as dressed up as they were going to get during their time at the Cape: a sky-blue, short-sleeved silk shirt and cream-coloured pleated linen slacks for Skinner, a collarless white cotton shirt and grey lightweight wool trousers for Mulder. They felt completely at ease when the entered the Red Inn, one of the finest dining establishments in Provincetown--and one that openly welcomed gays and lesbians.

Throughout the fabulous meal, Skinner was terrified that Mulder was going to publicly humiliate him. But there was no cake, no chorus of off-key waiters belting out their own unique version of "Happy Birthday," no balloons, no fuss. After dessert, coffee and brandy, he reached across the narrow table and took Mulder's hand. "Thank you, babe," he said quietly. "That was perfect."

"You thought I was going to embarrass you, didn't you?"

Skinner was suffused with guilt. "Well, yeah, sort of. Sorry." He kissed Mulder's knuckles.

But Mulder just smiled. "That's okay. I'm saving all that shit for your 50th birthday."

The older man groaned. "I'll bet you are. Of course, I know someone who's going to turn 40 before then."

"Which means you'd better play nice." Mulder leaned forward.

"I suppose..." Skinner scooted closer, too, and touched his lips to Mulder's. "What do you say we dance off some of these calories?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The A-House  
9:40 pm

Mulder was convinced everyone was gawking at his lover.

Skinner firmly believed they were drooling over Mulder.

In truth, both were the epitome of eye candy.

Mulder had been scared shitless to go out in public dressed the way he was. He'd felt foolish enough in the store, trying the damned outfit on, but had let Skinner buy it for him because he thought it would be for his eyes only. When Skinner asked him to wear it dancing, Mulder had every intention of refusing. But Skinner asked so little of him. Gave so much. And it *was* his birthday. And the fact that Walter looked so fucking hot himself really helped. The white ribbed sleeveless undershirt that defined his nipples and abs so exquisitely... And the soft, faded jeans with the ripped-out knees and the most sublime slit that made it clear he'd gone commando tonight...

Quite simply, Mulder had caved.

And now that he was in the dance club, with a muscular arm wrapped around his waist, he no longer felt so conspicuous in the cropped black mesh t-shirt and black leather jeans that were so snug they left no room for underwear.

As the two men stood shoulder to shoulder at the bar, Mulder tapped the toe of one of his new black boots to the thrumming beat of the music and marvelled that he and Skinner had even made it out the door of their cottage.

Skinner was thinking the same thing. He slid his hand down to the buttery softness of Mulder's ass in a flagrant display of affection and ownership. He felt positively giddy, like the average high school Joe who'd won the love of the glamorous head cheerleader--or, in this case, the studly quarterback--and could barely believe his good fortune.

Any lingering regrets Mulder may have had about parading around like a wannabe rock star vanished as Skinner petted him. He reached around until he found the rent in Skinner's jeans, on the left thigh just below the cheek. None too subtly, he began stroking the exposed, lightly furred skin.

They caught each other's eye with a look that said, "Dance? Or leave *now*?" And drifted onto the dance floor.

Being Thursday, the unofficial start to the weekend, the place was more crowded than the last time they'd been there. They found themselves brushing up against each other more than usual. Touching and grabbing and holding on.

And necking.

They carried on outrageously for the next three hours...something that would have been impossible just a few months ago. Like that time in Key West, when their first slow dance sent them racing back to their room.

But they'd been evolving since then.

And now it gave them both immense pleasure to delay the inevitable. To make each other almost unbearably hard in a public place--albeit a dark one--surrounded by the hot, gyrating bodies of other horny men. To know that, when they finally hit the sheets, they wouldn't be merely fucking.

Before they knew it, last call at the bar was announced. Skinner was about to suggest they leave, but changed his mind when he recognized the opening lyrics of a familiar song.

"I'll protect you from the hooded claw Keep the vampires from your door"

It was a haunting ballad by Frankie Goes To Hollywood, the band whose song signature song, "Relax," was still being played in straight and gay bars nearly 15 years after its original release. Mulder owned the CD, and Skinner discovered that he not only liked "Relax" but most of the other tracks on "Welcome to the Pleasuredome" as well--especially this one.

"Feels like fire  
I'm so in love with you  
Dreams are like angels  
They keep bad at bay  
Love is the light  
Scaring darkness away"

Protectively, he pulled Mulder in even closer, and found himself gazing so intensely at the unusually beautiful face that he barely noticed the erection snugged up against his own.

"I'm so in love with you  
Purge the soul  
Make love your goal"

Arms coiled seductively around Skinner's neck, Mulder was glad that his lover didn't wear his glasses when they danced. Skinner's eyes were unnaturally dark tonight, the irises nearly as black as the pupils. Mulder had always considered the deep brown eyes particularly expressive, but never more so than they were at this moment. They were speaking volumes to him, practically shouting verses about love and trust and stability. And acceptance. It slowly dawned on Mulder that Skinner was no longer looking at him like he wanted to rip his clothes off with his teeth, and the impudent grin that the younger man had been wearing all night slid right off his face.

Oh, Jesus.

Walter Skinner really *was* his.

*His*.

Forever.

Just as he was Skinner's.

"I'll protect you from the hooded claw  
Keep the vampires from your door"

And, instead of the recoiling from this realization, from the obligations this kind of relationship would certainly entail, Mulder felt an enormous sense of indescribable relief.

"When the chips are down I'll be around  
With my undying, death-defying  
Love for you"

He couldn't blink, couldn't swallow, couldn't turn away. No one--not even Scully-had stood before him so openly, offering everything, holding nothing back.

"The power of love  
A force from above  
Cleaning my soul  
Flame on burn desire  
Love with tongues of fire  
Purge the soul  
Make love your goal"

He placed his palms along the sides of Skinner's sweat-dappled face and matched his passionate gaze. The two men swayed almost imperceptibly, their bodies at peace, almost oblivious to their surroundings.

When the song ended, a raised eyebrow from Skinner got a nod in return from Mulder.

It was time to go.

No words were necessary.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Brass Key Guest House  
Friday, June 4  
1:08 am

Walter Skinner never realized how much he loved the feel and smell of leather. Until now.

Mulder had wanted to bathe before climbing into bed--or wherever he had planned for them to make love tonight--but Skinner overruled him. He wanted to revel in the taste and aroma of Mulder's damp skin. Salt and musk and...and leather.

Their mutual desire had returned mere moments after entering the room. As per Mulder's instructions to the Brass Key's housekeeping staff, a bottle of champagne on ice awaited them bedside. He popped the cork and handed Skinner a fluted glass.

"Happy birthday, Walter."

"Birthday's over. It's past midnight."

"I'm getting a head start on next year."

"Oh." He set down his empty flute. "Come here."

Mulder drained his glass and did as he was told. When Skinner took hold of the hem of his damp mesh t-shirt, Mulder lifted his arms obligingly. He loved it when Skinner undressed him.

"Sit."

The younger man backed up and perched on the edge of the bed. Skinner knelt down and unlaced Mulder's black leather boots, then peeled off his ridiculous socks. Without his glasses in the dimly lit room, he couldn't see the Tasmanian Devil pattern. But he knew it was there and chuckled lowly.

Mulder was disappointed when Skinner got to his feet and poured more champagne for them.

"Walter--"

"Ssssh. Wait."

Skinner toed off his shoes and socks. The next thing to go was the undershirt, and even though it hadn't left much to the imagination, Mulder still inhaled sharply when it came off. With deliberate slowness, Skinner unbuckled his belt, undid his fly, and eased himself out of his jeans. Mulder's various reactions to this no-nonsense striptease--hungry eyes, noisy breathing, wandering hands--fed Skinner's growing erection.

The nude man made the short walk to the bed and removed Mulder's fingers from the waistband of his trousers. "Later," he growled. He took Mulder by the shoulders and positioned him diagonally on the mattress, then blanketed himself over the smaller body.

Skinner played with Mulder's nipples as he kissed him deeply, grinding his naked cock into Mulder's leather-covered crotch until he nearly came. Carefully, he slid down the writhing form beneath him, nipping and licking and sucking his way to the stiffened nipples. At the same time, he ran his hands along Mulder's thighs, his palms gliding effortlessly across the supple surface.

Mulder's cock was squashed against his zipper, fighting to free itself from the confines of the leather trousers so that it could be recaptured by Skinner's hands or, better still, his mouth. The younger man grabbed his lover's head and began guiding it downward.

And down that head did go, but the hands didn't exactly follow. Rather, they tucked themselves under Mulder's ass, kneading and lifting, while Skinner's mouth nuzzled the smooth blackness of Mulder's crotch. As sensational as the aroma was, Skinner knew that the heady fragrance of the leather mingled with Mulder's unique scent would be unequivocally intoxicating.

Mulder let out a triumphant groan as Skinner finally stripped off the rest of his clothing.

"Touch me, Walter! Please..."

"Hold on, baby. Hold on."

"I--I--oh, fuck!"

Skinner buried his face in Mulder's lap, probing bare skin with nose and tongue to appease his greedy senses. The precious crease where thigh met pelvis...the slit of the cockhead...the thick, marbled length of him: all were slick and redolent and thoroughly inebriating.

But Skinner wanted more.

Deftly, he flipped Mulder over and dragged his tongue down Mulder's spine to the cleft between his buttocks.

"Hands and knees," Skinner breathed.

"No."

//What?!?// "Whaddya mean, 'no?'"

"Got a better idea."

Mulder rolled onto his back and sat up. Stacking pillows with one hand, he grabbed Skinner's wrist with the other and pulled him over to the headboard so that the older man was sitting sideways beside it.

"Lie back on the pillows, Walter. That's it. Now bend you knees and spread your legs."

When Skinner was ready, Mulder straddled him, making sure his own asshole was within easy reach of Skinner's mouth. Using the headboard and his elbows for support, Mulder leaned forward so he could rim Skinner while being rimmed. Hell, if the 69 position worked for giving head, why wouldn't it work for tongue fucking?

It took a few seconds for them to get comfortable, but once they did, it was a wild ride for both. And almost too much for Mulder. He wanted to concentrate solely on Skinner's pleasure, and reluctantly separated himself from that magical mouth.

"Fox! Where--what are you doing?"

"Relax. I'm gonna take you home now."

Mulder scooted over to the bedside table, found the lube, and slicked up his fingers. As he warmed the cool gel, he placed a pillow under Skinner's hips and pushed his knees toward his shoulders. Mulder grasped the twitching cock and slid his hand up and down the shaft, fondling the hefty balls each time he reached the root. Meanwhile, the fingers of his other hand travelled along the perineum to Skinner's tongue-loosened hole, circling and teasing it.

Mulder then lay down on his stomach between Skinner's legs and lapped at the crown of his cock while inserting the tip of one finger into Skinner's saliva-wet opening. Without warning, he drew the entire erection into his mouth, and when Skinner gasped, Mulder plunged the rest of his finger deep inside the feverish body.

Being finger-fucked and sucked off and having his balls massaged simultaneously was driving Skinner completely out of his head. He had no idea what he was mumbling, what he was doing with his hands, how much he was bucking and squirming.

But Mulder hung in there because he knew his man wasn't going to last much longer. If only he had a third hand to bring himself off, too...

And then Skinner was shouting, cursing joyfully, crying Mulder's name over and over, pounding the headboard with his left fist, smashing the mattress with his right.

As Mulder licked the last drops from the wilting cock, some of Skinner's faculties and strength returned. He grabbed Mulder under the arms and pulled him up onto his chest, then placed his long legs over Mulder's shoulders.

"Walter," he croaked, "what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

"But I didn't mean to--I hadn't planned--"

"I know. But I want you. And I'm so ready."

Mulder paused, the slippery head of his erection butted up against Skinner's ass. He'd never fucked his lover two days in a row before. Not even twice in one week. He felt something trickle down his face, and knew it wasn't sweat. "You sure?"

Skinner wiped gently at Mulder's cheek. "Yes. Oh, yes."

"I'll get the lube."

"Uh-uh. Don't need it. Just need you."

"But--"

"Need you *now*."

Mulder quickly realized that Skinner was indeed ready. And, although this turned him on even more, he somehow managed to control his lust and bestowed upon Skinner a final gift: his second orgasm of the night. They wept when they came.

It had been one hell of a birthday party.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Brass Key Guest House  
Friday, June 4, 1999  
7:52 am

No sooner had Skinner's eyes fluttered open than Mulder rolled over and blinked at him sleepily.

"'Morning, beautiful."

"Hey, you."

A gentle smile spread across Skinner's face as Mulder reached up and dragged the tips of his fingers along the older man's whiskered jaw. In turn, he pushed a stray lock of Mulder's hair off his forehead, producing a small sigh of contentment. Even though he wanted to get out of bed and relieve himself and rinse the bitter aftertaste of champagne out of his mouth, Skinner timidly touched his lips to Mulder's. They were still swollen from the night before and--oh, god--warm and soft and so responsive.

Any fears Skinner had about being rebuffed for having morning breath and a scratchy beard were dispelled the moment Mulder lined himself up against the length of his lover's body and melted into its muted heat. Like Skinner, he was fully aware that his semi-hard cock was on autopilot and would only fly so high. No, nothing of an orgasmic nature was going to happen this morning. Not after last night. Shit, they weren't kids anymore, although they'd sure been acting like it.

But this was nice--so nice, in fact, that Mulder, too, forgot about his nagging bladder for a while. Both men were happy to kiss and cuddle without the promise of sex.

When they finally dragged themselves out of bed, they were quieter than usual. But so much was said with just a glance. A touch of a hand. A brush of the lips. It was a significant silence they were sharing, a powerful new form of communication that had been developing over the past few months and had, apparently, now reached its apex. Or, at least, a momentous plateau.

They resumed their customary banter over breakfast as they planned the day's activities. These included driving to Hyannis and taking the ferry to Nantucket, a quaint resort island south of Cape Cod. It was famous for its now-defunct whaling industry, narrow cobblestone streets, and being an integral part of the world's most risque limerick. Sipping their third cup of coffee, they leafed through the guide books Mulder had purchased, poured over maps and brochures, talked about renting bicycles.

It was just past 10 when they left the diner, and Commercial Street was really starting to come to life. They were heading back to the Brass Key to pick up the car when they found themselves outside a jewellery store, staring at one particular sign in the window. It was something both men had noticed since they got here, but had never talked about. Tearing their twin gazes away from the storefront, their eyes met and locked, and they blindly groped for each other's hand. Whether it was minutes or just seconds later, neither would ever be able to say, but eventually Skinner's brows posed the question, and Mulder answered with a quick nod.

They turned as one and entered the jeweller's.

"Well, good morning!" They were greeted enthusiastically by a man who was about Mulder's age, but shorter and stockier. "Can I help you with anything, or would you just like to look around?"

Skinner glanced at Mulder, who smiled and squeezed his hand.

This was it.

"We'd like to see some commitment rings."

"Oh, lovely!" said the clerk. "We have a fabulous selection."

He led them to a side counter and pulled out a large tray from a glass case. "Have anything special in mind? Something with diamonds, maybe? Or birthstones?"

"Uh-uh," his customers said simultaneously. He beamed. There was no doubt in his mind he would make a sale this morning.

Mulder scanned the tray. "We'd like something, uh--"

"Simple? Elegant?" the clerk finished for him.

"Yeah. Nothing flashy."

"And *durable*," Skinner added with a grin that got him an elbow in the ribs.

//Ka-ching!// thought the jeweller.

In the end, it only took them about five minutes to find what they wanted in their sizes. Both chose 10-carat yellow gold, with a smooth finish for Skinner and a matte one for Mulder. Skinner's was also wider and well-suited to his larger fingers.

"Would you like to have these engraved?" asked the clerk.

Skinner felt the blood rush to his face. "Um, uh--what do you think, Fox?"

"Yeah! Sure! I think we--I'd really like that."

"When will they be ready?" Skinner asked the jeweller as he and Mulder pulled credit cards out of their wallets.

"Anytime after five. We're open late tonight." The man watched as his customers exchanged glances. "There's always tomorrow if you've got plans."

Skinner spoke directly into Mulder's eyes. "We could do Nantucket next week. It's not like it's going anywhere."

The smile those words got him was more dazzling than any gem in the store.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They spent the day in Chatham, 24 miles south of Provincetown and out of the way of much of the Cape's tourist flow. The quintessential all-American small fishing town, its Main Street was filled with charming shops and eateries, including the Chatham Wayside Inn, where they decided to have lunch. Seated at a small table on the screened terrace, they fortified themselves on crab cakes and Portuguese chowder, and looked out upon a much different flow of pedestrian traffic from the one they'd left behind this morning.

There was so much they wanted to say to each other. But they chose not to. Not yet. This was neither the place nor the time. So they talked about how good the food was. And how the weather was getting stickier. And their plans for the weekend.

They strolled to the end of Main Street after lunch to kill some more time. Following the signs, they veered right to view the Chatham Light, a working lighthouse operational since 1876 and, therefore, not open to the public. Retracing their steps northward, they took the Shore Road to the Fish Pier and watched the trawlers bringing in the catch of the day from the observation deck. They found themselves alone for a few precious minutes and risked a full-body hug.

"What time is it?" Mulder nipped lightly at an earlobe.

Skinner peered over Mulder's shoulder to consult his Bart Simpson watch, the sight of the birthday gift eliciting an instant grin. "Two-sixteen."

"Shit! That all?" Mulder groaned, then heard footsteps at the base of the deck's staircase and reluctantly pulled out of the embrace. "Come on," he said quietly, tugging Skinner by the hand as a wide-eyed young couple appeared on the scene. "Let's go to the beach."

Within minutes they were at the water's edge, pant legs rolled up, shoes in hand.

Chatham was hardly the gay mecca that Provincetown was, but the two men figured they could get away with expressing a small amount of affection in public. Besides, the place wasn't exactly crawling with visitors, and the few people they *did* encounter didn't appear to be noticeably upset that they were holding hands. After walking for some time without running into any children or nuns, Skinner felt comfortable enough to pull Mulder in closer and wrap an arm around his shoulder. And Mulder was more than happy to lean into Skinner and hold onto his waist.

They'd been strolling leisurely, quietly, for close to an hour when Mulder came to a stop and stared out beyond the waves. The wind had picked up, sweeping his hair away from his boyish, tanned face like an invisible comb. Skinner couldn't see his lover's eyes behind the stylish sunglasses, but he could tell by the subtle workings of Mulder's jaw that he'd spotted something, and was about to give a full report.

"Walter?"

"What do you see, babe?"

"How did you--? Never mind. I think it's a seal." He dropped his shoes, took off his Serengetis, and pointed to a dark, shiny speck playing peek-a-boo among the white-capped waves. "See it?"

Skinner squinted from under the brim of his white baseball cap. "Where? Even with my glasses, my eyesight's not nearly as good as yours."

Mulder stood in front of the bigger man, reached down, and plucked at his right hand. "Grab my wrist, Seymour," he instructed, then pointed again once he and Skinner were connected. "Now look over my shoulder and down my arm. See it now?"

Sure enough, *something* was out there. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. But I'll be damned if I can tell what it is."

"It's probably a harbour seal," Mulder enthused. "They're quite common in these waters. Did you know that they often float upright with their noses pointed up? It's called 'bottling.'"

Mulder continued rattling off everything he knew about harbour seals, but Skinner was more interested in the teacher than the subject. Mulder's hair--sun-warmed wisps of chestnut and cinnamon--tickled his cheek, teased his nose. When he tucked his cap in his pocket and turned his face into the side of Mulder's head, Skinner discovered a slender neck just begging to be nuzzled.

The human Discovery Channel broke for a commercial.

"Uh, Walter--"

"Hmmm?" Skinner's left palm now rested high on Mulder's belly, and he slid his right hand up Mulder's arm, then down his side, finally settling across his chest.

Forgetting what he was going to say, Mulder placed his hands over Skinner's and leaned against the dependable chest, tilting his head to the left to make nibbling easier. These weren't Skinner's "I-want-you-right-this-very-minute" love nips, thank god; no, these were sweet and tender and patient. But if they lasted much longer, Mulder was going to be sporting one very serious hard-on. With a sigh that was lost amid the screeching of gulls and terns, he turned in Skinner's arms and pecked his cheek demurely. He expected to be released, but Skinner just held on tight and grinned at him goofily.

"What? I hope you're not thinking about doing something crazy here," Mulder warned lightly.

Still smiling, the AD shook his head, trying to banish a mental picture of himself on bended knee, asking Mulder for his hand. Of course, it was too late for that. "If you only knew." He kissed Mulder back instead. "Come on. Let's go."

"You in a hurry to get somewhere, Walter?"

"Yeah, actually. I am." His fingers wandered up from Mulder's biceps, stopping at last to lose themselves in the thick, wild hair. "I'm getting hitched."

Mulder gulped back a tiny gasp, but didn't lower his gaze. "You already are. Have been for months."

"I know." Skinner's voice had dropped an octave, his words gliding across his vocal chords like a bow over bass strings. "Thank you."

Mulder placed his palm over Skinner's heart and gave him a sympathetic smile. "Are you sure you want to be stuck with Spooky Mulder for the rest of your life?"

"Stuck with you, stuck *on* you, stuck *in* you--whatever, it's all good." Mulder snickered, but Skinner carried on, determined to keep things from turning maudlin. He had a feeling that there'd be plenty of dewy sentiment later. "And as far as nicknames go, I prefer 'Bart' over 'Spooky.'"

"That makes two of us, Seymour."

They were now standing closer than polite society dictated, and what Skinner wanted to do with his favourite agent hardly constituted gentlemanly behaviour. But decency prevailed, and he forced himself to release his willing captive and step away. He stooped gracefully to retrieve his discarded shoes before taking Mulder's hand and heading back to town.

"Let's go and make this--hell, I was going to say 'official,' but that's not exactly the right word, is it?"

"It will be for us, Walter. Fuck the rest of the world."

Provincetown  
5:03 pm

This time, it was a young woman who served them at the jewellery store. With her tie-dyed sun dress and long straight hair, she reminded Skinner of a girl he knew in high school who'd try to talk him out of going to 'Nam.

The first thing the neo-hippie clerk did was have her customers inspect the engraving on the rings, which met with both men's approval.

"Would you like to wear them now, or should I wrap them?"

Skinner was almost insulted at the wide-eyed look of terror Mulder gave him. //As if!// "We'll take them home, thanks."

Mulder beamed like a loon.

The clerk smiled knowingly and pulled a couple of small boxes from below the counter.

"Damnit!" Mulder suddenly barked, his face filled with painful, angry awareness.

"What? What is it?" In all his life, Skinner had never met anyone whose emotions changed as quickly or dramatically as Mulder's.

"*Home*!" Mulder placed a hand on his puzzled lover's arm. "We won't be able to wear these when we get home!"

The clerk, who'd witnessed dozens of similar scenarios since she'd come to Provincetown, cleared her throat. "Uh, guys? May I make a suggestion?"

"Let me guess." Mulder's hazel eyes were flinty. "Quit our jobs, move here and become professional--"

Skinner gave him *the* look.

"--beachcombers?" Mulder finished weakly.

The clerk had seen plenty of customers get defensive and resort to sarcasm, too. Nothing quite that drastic. What you *could* do is wear them on a chain around your neck."

"That's not a bad idea, Fox."

"But I don't *have* a chain!"

Skinner sighed and put his hands firmly on Mulder's obstinate shoulders. "Babe, we're in a *jewellery* store. Should I spell it out for you?"

Mulder grinned sheepishly. "It's a good thing you love me for my body and not my brain."

The young woman helped them with their choices: masculine ropes of gold that didn't quite reach nipple level. The rings would hang nicely in the centre of their chests, well concealed behind office attire.

"I think--I think we should wear *these* home, though" Mulder announced dreamily, fingering his chain absentmindedly while staring at Skinner's throat. He couldn't take his eyes off the thread of gleaming golden that tangled with the swirls of dark chest hair. Just when he thought Walter Skinner couldn't possibly look any sexier...

"Yeah, why not?" Skinner had never gotten into necklaces before, unless dog tags counted. But Mulder's libidinous reaction was all the former Marine needed to start wearing one.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Brass Key Guest House  
5:32 pm

Late afternoon was their favourite time of day at the Brass Key. While most of the other guests were at the Boatslip for the tea dance, Mulder and Skinner enjoyed having the courtyard pool practically to themselves.

But they'd chosen to skip their customary swim today.

Ensconced in their room, they were preparing to take an altogether different kind of plunge.

Steadily, solemnly, Skinner removed the smaller ring from its box and took Mulder's left hand in his. He slid the gold band onto the third finger, gently nudging it past the knuckle. "There." He raised the hand to his lips, kissed it, then held it there briefly before relinquishing it.

Mulder blinked furiously before meeting his lover's own sparkling eyes. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Trembling slightly, the younger man slipped Skinner's ring on his finger. "Wow," he whispered, his head bent over their clasped hands.

"Babe? You okay? Fox?"

"Yeah." He looked up, smiling broadly. "Never better. Aren't we supposed to kiss now?"

With great enthusiasm, Skinner leaned forward and granted Mulder his wish.

The kiss was deep, long, intensely passionate. They were soon on their feet, stripping each other of everything but their new jewellery. Mulder started moving toward the bed, but stopped when he realized that his brawnier partner was pulling in the opposite direction.

Toward their private patio.

"Trust me," Skinner whispered huskily as he snagged the lube from the nightstand and guided Mulder out through the glass doors.

"Always."

It was eerily quiet on the little terrace. The cacophony of Commercial Street--car horns beeping, music blaring, hundreds of voices squawking--was only a distant hum. It was an appropriate atmosphere for two naked men whose current universe consisted of nothing or no one but each other.

The wall nearest the door faced the sun and was still warm--about as warm as the air, in fact. Deciding it would do nicely, Skinner backed Mulder up against it and kissed him again, probing the greedy mouth with his tongue. When Mulder began to moan and writhe, Skinner gestured for him to stay put, then grabbed the thick cushion from one of the lounge chairs and placed it at Mulder's feet.

"I want you to come for me," Skinner said quietly, rubbing the pad of his thumb back and forth across the tip of his lover's swollen cock. "In my mouth. Then I'm going to turn you around and eat your beautiful ass, then fuck you 'til you come again. Got it?"

Mulder nodded dumbly and nearly slid to the ground as Skinner knelt down and started kissing his belly. He widened his stance a little and was rewarded with a lovely torrent of licks and nips from his hip bones to the inside of both thighs. Meanwhile, Skinner's hands were doing marvellous things to his cock and balls. And all this was happening *outside*. In broad daylight. Life was good.

"Jesus, Walter!" He gripped Skinner's shoulders almost hard enough to bruise. "Can't believe. You're doing this. To me. Out here."

"You really like this, don't you?" Skinner whispered against saliva-streaked skin.

"Fuck, yes!"

Indeed, the tip of Mulder's cock was gloriously slippery. Skinner looked up and, seeing that Mulder was watching, slowly licked the precum off his fingers.

Mulder groaned. "Me. Lick *me*!"

"Now?"

"Yes, now, goddamnit!"

Mulder nearly came when Skinner, still chuckling, drew one of his balls into his mouth and began to suck it while massaging his erection. As the other testicle was given similar attention--Skinner hummed this time--Mulder prayed to the gods of tantric sex that his cock would at least make it past Skinner's lips before he went off.

A good portion of Mulder's prayer was inadvertently recited aloud. Duly alerted, Skinner squeezed the base of the hard-on so he could enjoy nibbling the rest of it. As his other hand took over tormenting Mulder's balls, Skinner ran his tongue up the shaft of his cock to the tip, where he lapped up the viscous liquid still oozing from the slit. But it wasn't enough. Not even close. He had to satisfy his thirst for Mulder, and satisfy it *now*.

Mulder sighed happily when his the head of his dick was vacuumed into Skinner's talented mouth, moaned when most of the length also disappeared, then yelped when *two* strong hands began fondling his balls.

Skinner had barely started sucking in earnest--hadn't even begun that twirly-tongue thing that never failed to make Mulder crazy--before he heard a raw cry from above and milky cum filled his mouth and throat. He swallowed quickly, expertly, as Mulder shot and chanted "Walter" repeatedly. And loudly. But Skinner merely smiled around a mouthful of warm, wet flesh. Hell--he figured that everyone at the Brass Key already knew their first names. So what if the rest of Provincetown did too?

To Mulder's blissed-out astonishment, Skinner got to his feet.

"I thought," the younger man wheezed. "I thought you--"

"Just need to stretch my legs, babe." Skinner pinned Mulder against the wall to keep him from falling. "And give you a minute to get *yours* working again."

Mulder grinned. "So thoughtful," he began, but was silenced by Skinner's mouth. Tasting himself on his lover's tongue--not to mention feeling said lover's diamond-hard cock trying to drill a hole in his stomach--was turning him on again. Just as intended, no doubt.

"I want you," Skinner growled into his partner's mouth. "Wanna taste the rest of you."

"And fuck me. Right here."

"And fuck you. Right here," he agreed. "Turn around."

Mulder was never better at following orders when they had something to do with sex. His legs still rubbery but functional, he faced the wall, stood with feet wide apart, and bent forward from the waist, keeping his knees loose.

Skinner resumed his position on the cushion and placed a hand on each of Mulder's ass cheeks. He kneaded them with his strong fingers before gently spreading them open. Leaning forward, he touched his tongue to the small of Mulder's back, directly above the cleft, and ran it down to the puckered opening. Once the small hole was thoroughly moistened, Skinner licked a snail-paced path to Mulder's balls, then back to the main target. Settling in, he began to tease by kissing, sucking and flicking--but not actually penetrating. His face firmly planted where he wanted it, he reached a hand between Mulder's legs, grunting with satisfaction that the dear boy was hard again so quickly.

Mulder groaned at Skinner's touch and bit down on his lip. He didn't want to come yet; he wanted to be fucked first. But it wasn't easy to maintain control--not when your man was giving you the rim job of the century in the great outdoors. And in the middle of a densely populated town, no less.

Then Mulder turned his head and caught sight of his ring, which he was careful not to scrape along the brick surface. Instantly he was overwhelmed by Skinner's unfathomable love for him, and somewhat ashamed that his lust had made him temporarily forget the most important thing he'd ever done in his life. The very reason why they were celebrating the way they were.

But the selfish hedonist in Mulder reared his horny head again when Skinner's tongue finally breached the tight ring of muscle. //If he touches my dick now,// Mulder thought, //it's game over.//

But Skinner was as near to bursting as Mulder was. So Mulder didn't complain when the tongue was replaced by a lube-slicked finger. Then a second. Then a third. And he was so into what those fingers were doing that he scarcely flinched when Skinner bit down on his right buttock just a little too hard.

"Walter," he said through gritted teeth. "Are you gonna do this or not?"

"Yeah." He'd spilled Astroglide all over the patio in his haste, but his cock was well oiled and eager to get to work. Christ, he'd nearly come in his own hand. He got to his feet as quickly as he could and guided himself to Mulder's opening, then held the younger man firmly by the hips.

"Hold on, babe."

It had taken a lot of practice, but Mulder had become extremely proficient at relaxing his internal sphincter at will. The newfound skill, combined with his obvious off-the-scale level of desire, allowed Skinner to slide in with remarkable ease. He didn't think Mulder had ever been this ready for him.

With his right hand, Skinner reached around and found Mulder's cock. It was ready, too. As was his own. He looked down his torso, at the point where they were joined, and was nearly overcome by the way all of Mulder accepted all of him.

"Damnit, Walter! Don't just stand there! Fuck me!"

"Uh, sorry. Just enjoying the view." Skinner ignored the sweat dripping into his eyes as he pulled most of the way out, then glided back in. For the first time in ages, the angle was perfect the way it was. Mulder's prostate took a direct hit the moment Skinner's balls slammed against his partner's ass, and both men made noises that didn't sound entirely human.

Skinner held his rampant need in check for as long as he could stand it, then began to make his thrusts shorter and faster, nudging Mulder's prostate with every downstroke.

Ever helpful, Mulder pushed himself back onto Skinner, using as much as force as he could without sending them both flying ass over teakettle.

"Fox! Can't wait! Have to--"

"Do it! Come for me! Come on!"

As he began to orgasm, Skinner wrapped his left arm around Mulder's chest and pulled the younger man into him. Mulder gasped and flailed wildly as he was yanked away from the support of the wall to an almost upright position. But he was safe. Skinner had him. And Skinner was buried up to his balls in his ass. And he was pumping and squeezing him just the way he liked. And now Mulder was coming too, his internal muscles clamping down on Skinner's cock as both men twitched and spasmed in their strangely beautiful post-nuptial dance.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A long, hot soak before dinner had been Skinner's idea, and Mulder thought it a brilliant one. He also loved the huge tub, and was still trying to come up with a way to get it back home without anybody noticing.

He now sat in front of Skinner, between his legs, resting his head on the big man's shoulder. Their fingers were laced atop Mulder's chest, just under the surface of the water. He raised his left hand, bringing Skinner's up with it, and slowly twisted his wrist from side to side.

"'Til death do us part.' Right, Seymour?"

"Yup. That's the rule."

"So, you figure we've got--what? Another forty years? Fifty?"

Skinner chuckled from way down in his chest and brought Mulder's newly bejewelled hand to his lips. "At least that. God help us."

"And we're going together." It was a statement, not meant to be refuted. "Preferably in bed. Simultaneous coronaries or something."

"I'll give it my best shot."

"You'd better," Mulder told him, quietly but firmly. "You know I couldn't live without you."

He expected Skinner's usual pragmatic retort to such a declaration. But the older man surprised him. Hell, he surprised *himself*.

"I know, Fox. I couldn't live without you either."

Mulder went stock-still, then shifted around to face his lover. "Really?"

Skinner playfully rapped the top of Mulder's head with his knuckles. "Yes, *really*."

Shit. He was getting better at this sort of thing, but it still wasn't second nature to him. Not after 30 years of repression and denial. "You're the most important thing in my life, Fox. I love you more than I can--*articulate*. Obviously," he snorted. "So get that through that mercifully indestructible skull of yours. Okay?"

Mulder swallowed the lump--lump?!? hell, the fucking *boulder*--in his throat. "And you're okay, right? I mean, you're not having any symptoms or side-effects or anything--"

"Fox." Skinner cupped the serious face in his hands. "I'm fine. I feel great. Like I could live forever. Krycek and whoever hired him to infect me--they're probably all dead. Died in that hangar fire. They can't take me away from you. And I'm going to do my damnedest to hang around your neck like a big, bald albatross well into the next century."

"Promise?"

"Yeah. But *you've* got to promise *me* that *you'll* be careful when you're out in the field."

"I *have* been, Walter. Since we've been together, I really have been."

Skinner kissed his forehead. "I know. But no more stupid risks, okay?"

"Okay. Of course, it depends on what your definition of 'stupid' is."

"How about--messing with a guy who's bigger and stronger than you are? Who knows where you're most ticklish?"

"Works for me."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Provincetown, Massachusetts  
Saturday, June 5  
11:08 pm

They'd spent the day exploring the rest of the Outer Cape--Truro, Wellfleet and Eastham--finally stopping for a late dinner at a popular lobster spot. By the time they got back to P-town, stuffed with seafood, they hadn't the energy to go dancing, so decided to drop in at Larry's Bar for a drink. Or two. Larry's was only a few minutes' walk from the Brass Key, so what the hell?

They were pleasantly tired and a bit buzzed as they stepped out onto Commercial Street, arms around each other, continuing the conversation started in the bar. Being approached was the last thing either one of them expected.

But there she was, blocking their path. It took them a moment to realize that the heavily made-up woman in neon sequins was, in fact, a man.

"Be safe and have fun, honey," the drag queen said to Mulder as she pushed something into his hand, then Skinner's, before sashaying over to another unsuspecting couple.

Simultaneously, they examined what they'd each been given: a Saxon Gold Ultra Sensitive condom, courtesy of the Provincetown Gay Men's AIDS Prevention Project.

Mulder stuffed his into the pocket of his khakis. "Too little, too late, huh?" Head down, he walked away from his lover and turned up Court Street.

Skinner cursed under his breath. Why couldn't he and Mulder have the same kind of problems other people had? He caught up to the younger man and grabbed his hand. They walked home and got ready for bed, exchanging only a few words--and no bodily fluids.

The Brass Key Guest House  
Sunday, June 6  
3:43 am

On those increasingly infrequent occasions when Walter Skinner awoke in the middle of the night and couldn't get back to sleep, he no longer minded.

Six months ago, he would have read or watched TV or just tossed and turned, growing more aggravated by the moment.

But now he looked upon his rare bouts of insomnia as a gift. Well, as long as Mulder was with him, that is. He could--and often did--spend a ridiculous amount of time just watching his lover as he slept. If Mulder had his back to him, he would gently untangle himself from the still body and take up residence in the chair facing Mulder's side of the bed. Invariably, the younger man would roll over and reach out for him, whimpering or murmuring softly until Skinner was back where he belonged.

But this night--this night his sleeplessness gave him no joy.

He'd been awakened by Mulder's incoherent mutterings, and now he was moaning and thrashing about. It pained Skinner to see him like this, the strangely beautiful features twisted in agony, glistening with fear-scented sweat.

Damn! Mulder's nightmares had diminished exponentially since the two men had started sleeping together. In fact, he hadn't had as much as a bad dream--not that he could remember, anyway--since the cigarette-smoking bastard and Alex Krycek disappeared after that hangar fire.

Drawing closer but not touching, Skinner began speaking to Mulder in a calm, soothing tone. "Fox, it's me. It's okay, babe. It's okay. Shhhhh. Let me hold you. It's all right. I'm here."

"Walter?"

"I'm right here." Very carefully, he placed a hand on Mulder's arm. "I've got you."

"Walter? Walter!" He recoiled from Skinner's touch and began to wail. "Walter! M'sorry. So sorry!"

Shit! Sometimes Skinner was able to calm Mulder down without waking him, but he knew he'd have no such luck tonight. He sat up and straddled Mulder's slim hips, then firmly but gently wrapped his fingers around Mulder's wrists and pinned them to the mattress on either side of his head.

"Fox! Wake up! You're having a nightmare."

Mulder started to struggle, his strength nearly catching Skinner off guard. But the older man held his position and spoke louder this time. "Fox! It's me! It's just me!"

The squirming suddenly stopped, and Mulder's eyes flew open. "Walter? Oh, thank God!"

Relieved, Skinner released Mulder's wrists and took the trembling man into his arms. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Fuck, that was a bad one. Even by my standards."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No. Yeah. Shit, I dunno."

"Was it about me?" Skinner stroked the damp head that was resting on his chest. "Something bad happening to me?"

Mulder swallowed. "Oh, God, it was! You were--I was the one--and you--you were--"

"Shhhh. It's okay." More quieting pats were administered. "Just forget about it and go back to sleep."

Then Mulder was sitting up, looking down at him, his face filled with anguish. "It was the black oil. I infected you and it triggered the nanocytes and you died and it was all my fault."

Skinner sighed. He couldn't deny he wasn't expecting this. "Come here, babe. It was just a dream."

"Don't patronize me, goddamn it!" Mulder jumped out of bed and ran his hands through his hair, making it even wilder. "We both know damned well it could happen. Just because it hasn't happened yet doesn't mean it won't."

Skinner sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. "I'm not patronizing you. But the fact is we don't have a fucking clue about any of this. All we know is that we were both fucked with and can't do a thing about it right now."

"But I was irresponsible, Walter. It didn't even occur to me to use condoms until it was too late. Christ, I didn't even think about stopping you from, you know, *swallowing*, and then you just let me fuck you--"

"We were *both* at fault. AIDS wasn't an issue for us, and we were so smitten that neither of us thought about what else we might pass onto each other."

Mulder stopped pacing and gaped at his partner. "*Smitten?*"

Skinner smiled sheepishly. "You know what I mean. Now, would you please come back to bed? If I have to look at you standing there naked much longer, I'm going to get all--smitten."

That produced a small snort. "You horndog, you," Mulder chided as he lay down and accepted Skinner's embrace.

"Fox," he said once they were settled, "we're both scared about the future, but what's done is done. We can't change the past." He lifted Mulder's left hand and pressed the commitment ring to his lips. "If that black oil shit winds up affecting you somehow, I want the same thing to happen to me."

"I don't think that's quite what they mean by 'in sickness and in health.'"

"Whatever. But I'll never forgive myself if--"

Mulder twisted his wrist so that his palm was across Skinner's mouth. "Oh, I get it. I'm blameless in all this but you're not? Just stop it, Walter. We're both guilty."

Skinner licked Mulder's hand, effectively chasing it from his lips. "The past week has been the best week of my life, and we've got another one to go. I want to enjoy it, Fox. I want *you* to enjoy it. Is there any way we can pretend none of this ever happened?"

"You mean live in denial?"

"Exactly."

Mulder groaned. "Jesus H. Christ! Haven't you learned anything from me after all this time?"

"No, not much, I guess. Just how to live."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They woke late--and smitten. *Quite* smitten. They hadn't made love since Friday night, and that seemed like a long time ago.

Skinner was supremely grateful that Mulder wanted to have sex as badly as he did. After last night, he wasn't sure what to expect. He'd tried initiating a little action to help them get back to sleep, but all Mulder had wanted to do was cuddle.

But now the younger man was making it clear that his brief flirtation with celibacy was over.

"Fuck me, Walter," he gasped between deep, wet kisses. "Any way you like."

Luckily, his eyes were squeezed shut, so he didn't see Skinner grimace at the image of nanocyte-laden semen invading Mulder's body.

"Fucked you the other night. My turn."

Mulder pulled away, holding Skinner's head between his hands. "You'll get your 'turn' later, my friend. Don't you worry. But I want you inside me this morning."

Jesus, he was a stubborn little bastard. But he was also a stubborn little bastard who could come twice within 30 minutes much more easily than a man nine years his senior. And nothing gave Skinner more satisfaction than making Mulder do exactly that.

"I just might do it," he teased, "if you do something for me."

Mulder laughed. "What? You're resorting to blackmail? Let's hear it."

It was a simple request, really. All Skinner wanted was for his lover to fuck his face.

As Mulder hardened like quick-drying cement just thinking about it, Skinner arranged the pillows so his neck wouldn't suffer--just in case Mulder took a while to come.

He didn't.

Skinner's trust in him not to choke him...his faith in Skinner not to cut him to ribbons with his teeth...the very act of pumping into a tight, hot mouth...it was all so unbelievably erotic that he never lasted very long. Especially when he was being finger-fucked at the same time.

"Oh, my God, Walter!" he pronounced as his climax subsided. "That was in-fucking-credible!"

Skinner wantonly licked a tiny rivulet of cum from the corner of his swollen lips. "Really? Couldn't tell."

Mulder scooted down so he could kiss those lips, then flopped onto his back beside his lover. "I want to do that for you."

"Any time, babe. Any time."

"How 'bout now?"

Lube in hand, Skinner rolled over onto an elbow and regarded the other man closely. "I thought you wanted me to fuck you."

"Didn't say *where*, though, did I?"

Skinner brushed the hair off Mulder's damp forehead. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Oh, yes." Mulder stuffed the pillows under his head and poked at Skinner, encouraging him to sit up and assume the position. "I promise I won't make a fool out of myself this time. The gag response is least active in the morning, you know."

Skinner was straddling the smaller body, but only at his waist. "Fox, you weren't a fool that time. Stop being so goddamned hard on yourself."

The hazel eyes looked anywhere but up. "If puking all over both of us isn't being a fool--" He put his hands on Skinner's hips. "Look. If you'd rather not try it again, I understand. At least you know that fucking my *ass* won't hurt you."

"Come on, Fox! The reason you threw up was that we'd just had a big dinner, and I got a little too, uh, carried away. I'm really touched that you want to do this for me. I'm game if you are."

Mulder put his hand on Skinner's cock. "You're losing your woody there, Seymour."

"Funny how talking about puking can do that to a guy."

"Well, why don't you come up here and let me fix it?"

Skinner got it up again. And Mulder didn't gag.

It was turning out to be a good day for them after all.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He saw them coming out of The Post Office Cafe, where they'd gone for brunch. He noticed that they were holding hands and looked relaxed. Happy, even.

Fucking faggots.

The man sighed. He wasn't being paid to judge them. Just find them and, now that he had, keep an eye on them.

As his subjects headed back to their hotel to do God only knew what, the man decided he was going to need some help from his old girlfriend in Boston. A single guy in this neck of the woods was just asking for trouble. Yup, he'd get Diane over here as fast as possible to play tourist with him. These guys were feds--groomed by Edgar J. Hoover himself, no doubt--and, if they were any good at all, would spot him in no time.

He closed the phone booth door behind him, being careful not to hit his 35mm camera.

This was going to be easy money.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Provincetown, MA  
Friday, June 11  
9:10 pm

//What in God's name was keeping him?//

Gladys Thompson checked her watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. Maybe she should have walked with her husband to the parking lot after all, even if her leg was bothering her. Waiting for Robert to bring the car around had seemed like a sensible idea when he proposed it, but now she wondered...

She leaned against the facade of The Lobster Pot--as far back from the denizens of Provincetown as possible--and squinted down Commercial Street, willing the Lincoln to come into view. But all she saw were perverts: women holding hands with other women, men with their arms around each other. Even award-winning clam chowder wasn't worth putting up with such loathsome sights. Next year she would try to convince Robert to choose another restaurant in which to celebrate his birthday. Start a new tradition. In Chatham, perhaps. Or Hyannis, where they always spent the night anyway. There were decent people in those towns. But *this* place--it was getting worse all the time.

As if to prove her point, two men came around the corner and down the sidewalk toward her, grinning foolishly and dressed like--well, whatever the male version of "harlots" was. One was huge and balding, wearing a white undershirt that left little to the imagination and a pair of skin-tight jeans with the knees ripped out of them. Disgraceful! He looked old enough to know better. Instead, he had a very muscular arm draped across the shoulders of a younger man who was positively obscene. *He* was tarted up in a black fishnet t-shirt and black leather trousers that he might as well have spray painted on. His hair looked black, too--full of gel or mousse or something-or-other to make it stand up in little spikes. *His* arm was around the bigger man's waist, and they were walking with their hips rubbing. The older one was talking into leather boy's ear, brushing his lips against the side of his face as he did so. Kissing in public! Did these people have no shame? She thanked God for having given her such fine, upstanding sons. Pity the poor mothers who'd given birth to *these* two!

They were going to pass her any second now, and she was just about to turn away in disgust when something about the younger man stopped her. He looked--*familiar*. She focused in on his face: the obtrusive nose, the full lips, Teena's eyes...

It couldn't be. It just couldn't be! But it was. Without thinking twice, she stepped forward.

"My God! Fox Mulder! Is that you?"

"Mrs. Thompson?" He clutched at his chest. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

She harrumphed. "I could say the same about *you*, young man."

"Fox?" Skinner asked, curious and concerned and protective all at once.

"It's okay, Walter. Mrs. Thompson lived across the street when I was growing up. She and my mother still keep in touch. Mrs. Thompson, this is my partner, Walter Skinner."

Skinner removed his right hand from Mulder's shoulder and offered it to the suspicious-looking woman. "Ma'am."

Against her better judgment, she took it. "Mr. Skinner." His good manners were terribly confusing. She turned to Mulder again. "So how *is* your mother, Fox? I haven't seen much of her lately."

"She was fine the last time I talked to her. I don't see her all that much myself."

Gladys Thompson inclined her head at his attire, then Skinner. "I'm not surprised. Are you still with the FBI?"

"Shhhh!" Mulder glanced around them quickly. "Please, Mrs. Thompson! Not so loud!"

"Ah! I see," she said with a wink. "I see." Then she smiled, startling Skinner; he didn't think gargoyles were capable of doing such a thing.

"Gladys? Everything all right?" a voice boomed from the street.

She turned toward the car--"Yes, Robert. Coming!"--then back to the two men. "Well, I shouldn't keep you any longer. Give your mother my best, Fox, and tell her to call me one of these days."

"I will, Mrs. Thompson. 'Bye."

Skinner watched her drive off. "Christ, that was weird," he mumbled. "You okay, babe?"

But Mulder was no longer at his side. The younger man had backed away, nearly melting into the shadows. "Fox?"

As Skinner approached, he could see that Mulder was facing the wall. And his shoulders were shaking.

//Shit! What has that fucking battle axe done to him?// Skinner put a comforting hand on Mulder's arm, ready to lead him back to their room, when he realized that Mulder wasn't crying at all. He was laughing. Hysterically.

Relieved but also baffled by his lover's behaviour, Skinner put his hands on his hips. "Well? Care to let me in on the joke?"

Mulder wiped at his eyes and choked back a snort of laughter. "Sorry, Seymour. Don't you get what just happened?"

"Yeah. Against all odds, you ran into someone you know and outed yourself."

A fresh attack of the giggles nearly prevented Mulder from saying another word. "Oh, man! You really don't get it!"

"Get what?" Mulder could still be an enigma when he wanted to.

"She thinks we're working undercover--for the Bureau!"

"Why would she thi--Oh, of course! You told her I was your *partner*. I wonder what kind of case she thinks we're handling."

Mulder took Skinner's hand, started tugging him back to the sidewalk. "Don't even go there, Walter. It truly boggles the mind. Come on."

"Still wanna dance?"

"Damn right I want to! Wanna close the place down. Who knows when we'll get a chance like this again?"

Race Point Beach  
Saturday, June 12  
8:50 pm

Mulder had insisted that Skinner set the agenda for their last day of vacation, being that the trip *was* part of his birthday gift.

The morning had consisted of a late breakfast--more like brunch--followed by a visit to the Provincetown Gym for yet another vigorous workout. They spent the afternoon packing their belongings and picking up gifts to thank Scully for feeding their fish and keeping an eye on things while they were away.

Just before five o'clock, they left for nearby Brewster, where they had the best lobster bisque ever at the Brewster Fish House. The restaurant had been highly recommended by every guidebook they'd read, every person they'd talked to. And, because the Fish House didn't accept reservations, the "honeymooners" had made sure to get there early, shortly after it opened for dinner. By the time they'd left, the place was packed and lined up to the door.

Once back in Provincetown, Skinner had grabbed a bulging nylon backpack from the closet and told Mulder they were going to the beach to watch the sunset. But, to the younger man's astonishment, it wasn't Herring Cove that Skinner took him to but Race Point Beach--on the north side of town, where tourists seldom venture.

And now they were sitting in a soft valley of sand, on the blanket that Skinner had brought. Mulder was comfortably wedged between his lover's legs, his back resting against the solid chest, casually stroking the brawny arms that encircled him.

While they'd been staking out their spot, they'd passed a man and a woman walking in the opposite direction, but had seen no one else since. They guessed it had something to do with the fact that the sky, streaked with dramatic splashes of coral, blue and slate grey, was clouding over for the first time in two weeks. The still air was pregnant with rain.

"There's gonna be one helluva storm tonight, Seymour," Mulder groused.

"Yeah, but there's also gonna be one helluva of a sunset. You won't melt if you get a little wet."

"*Soaked* is more like it." He considered the multi-hued sky nervously, unwelcome images from the Darren Peter Oswald case intruding upon more pleasant thoughts. "Those aren't cumulonimbus clouds, are they?"

"Uh-uh. I checked the weather forecast, and they're calling for rain only. No thunder or lightning." Skinner pressed his mouth close to Mulder's ear, filled it with soft, soothing words. "You okay with this? 'Cuz if you wanna head back--"

"No. This is great. Really."

"I just thought this would be, uh, kind of fun." He kissed Mulder's temple. "A nice way to spend our last night here."

"Yeah. The dunes are beautiful, aren't they?" Mulder observed, staring out over the rolling ridges of drifted sand. Still facing the beach, he picked up Skinner's left hand and kissed the curve between index finger and thumb, then absently ran his own thumb along the simple gold band. "I never really appreciated them when I was a kid. But I've started to see a lot of things differently over the past few months."

"Me too, Fox." He unthreaded his right arm from Mulder's and grabbed the backpack, dragging it closer to them. "Here. Hold this," he said, drawing out a small dark bottle.

Mulder squinted at the label in the fading light. "A split of champagne? Isn't this the same stuff we had on your birthday?"

"The very stuff." Skinner reached around Mulder to open it.

"Uh, Seymour, how are we going--?"

"I brought glasses. Dig 'em out, would you?"

Mulder picked up the backpack and found two champagne flutes wrapped in hand towels. "You're a class act, Walter Skinner. A genuine--Hey! What's this?" Setting the glasses down, he pulled out a smallish cardboard box.

Skinner expertly eased the cork out of the bottle, barely registering a pop. "An electric mini-lamp. Plastic *and* waterproof. It was too hot to build a fire--which I got a permit for, by the way. Now put it down and hold out those flutes."

What Mulder really wanted to do was throw his arms around the hopeless romantic and smother him with kisses. But it was obvious how carefully Skinner had planned this evening, and the younger man wasn't about to spoil it for him.

When the champagne was poured, Skinner leaned over Mulder's shoulder and clinked their glasses together. "To you, Fox, and the best birthday I've ever had. Thank you."

Mulder craned his neck to share a kiss. Without taking his eyes from Skinner's face, he touched the AD's flute with his own. "To marriage. The less traditional, the better."

Skinner snorted. "I'll drink to that." He did. "And to Cape Cod sunsets. Look."

"Huh?" Mulder faced the beach. "Oh, wow!" It was just approaching nine o'clock, and the sun--a fiery crimson ball--appeared to be sinking into the sea. He half expected to hear it hiss as it touched the waves, to see the steam rise, to hear a sigh of contentment and a breath of relief so huge as to make the land tremble and reshape the dunes.

Skinner tightened his hold on Mulder as mighty Sol disappeared into the Atlantic. "'Wow' is right."

"Yeah. That was pretty fucking amazing. Did you know that Provincetown is the only place on the East Coast where the sun sets over the ocean? It's because of the way the Cape curls back into itself."

The bigger man chuckled as he turned on the lamp, using the lowest setting. "I think you should go on Jeopardy. You'd be the biggest winner they ever had, and we could retire and move here."

"Don't think I haven't thought about it."

"What? Being on Jeopardy or leaving the Bureau?"

"What do you think? Right now I hate the idea of going back to all that bullshit."

Skinner spoke into Mulder's hair. "I know, babe. Me too. But you'll feel differently when a case you can really get your teeth into comes up. Or when you start finding some real answers about what happened to your sister."

Mulder gulped back his drink. "Will I? I mean, ever? Or have I just been deluding myself all these years?"

"It's not a question of self-delusion. You've always done what you've felt you had to do. And, no matter what you decide, I'll support you."

Sticking his empty glass in the sand, Mulder turned in Skinner's arms until they were facing each other, and draped his legs over Skinner's thighs. "Take off your glasses."

Grinning, Skinner took a hard-shell case from the backpack and placed his wirerims inside it. "Anything else, master?"

"Let me worry about that."

Mulder's fingers flew to Skinner's waist, untucked his polo shirt, and had it off him in seconds. He then put a firm hand on the back of Skinner's neck and brought their mouths together, still wet and slightly acrid from the champagne. While they kissed, Skinner slid hungry hands down Mulder's back to his ass, drawing him in so their crotches nestled against each other. As Mulder tweaked his nipples, he pulled Mulder's t-shirt out from his shorts and yanked it over his head, tossing it onto the sand beside them.

Instead of latching back onto Skinner's mouth, Mulder kissed his ear, scouring the interior with his tongue, nibbling the lobe. He then smeared a wet kiss down Skinner's neck to the slightly sweaty hollow just above the clavicle.

"Oh, baby, that feels so good!"

"Unh-hunh." Mouth still working, he gripped Skinner's shoulders and eased him down onto the blanket. Mulder didn't need lamplight to find what he wanted to taste next, although he admired the way it made his lover's impressive chest gleam like a bronzed breastplate. But there was nothing even vaguely metallic about the sweet, tender nipple his tongue was now flicking.

Looking up at the darkening sky, Skinner couldn't believe what they were about to do. Anyone--including a ranger--might stumble over them. But he didn't care. And, judging by the amount of energy Mulder was putting into getting Skinner naked, neither did he.

"Ath, Waltah! Ath!" he mumbled.

Skinner raised his hips obligingly, and his shorts flew down to below his knees. Using his bare feet, he pushed and kicked them the rest of the down his legs.

"Oh, my!" Mulder stopped the tongue bath and gave a low, appreciative whistle. "Run out of clean underwear?"

"You complaining?"

"Hell, no." He ran a hand down Skinner's cock and gently squeezed his balls. "Going commando, doing it on the fucking *beach*, for chrissakes--you're going to kill me yet, Walter."

"Nothing you can't handle. Now swing that gorgeous-but-over-dressed ass up here."

"What should I do in the meantime?" Mulder asked innocently, wriggling into position.

"Oh, I don't know. You're a bright boy. I'm sure you'll think of something."

As Skinner began working on Mulder's fly, the younger man stilled his hands. "What's the matter, Fox?"

"Shouldn't we turn this lamp off? It might as well be a neon sign saying, 'We're having sex in public! Come and arrest us.'"

Skinner swatted his lover's hands away and continued his mission. "In a minute. Trust me."

"That's *my* line."

"And that's my dick you're just *holding* there."

"Yes, and it's a very nice one. Quite big. And hard."

"It could get a lot bigger and harder if you put it in your mouth. Like this."

Now stripped of his shorts and briefs, Mulder inhaled sharply as Skinner skipped the usual preliminaries and nearly swallowed him whole. "Whoa, Walter! Back off! Back off!--And stopped laughing, you bastard, unless you want me to come right this second!"

Skinner obliged, kissing and licking only the head of Mulder's cock. The smirk he was wearing disappeared the moment he felt warm lips on the crown of his own erection.

Before long, they were engaged in a game of follow the leader, with Skinner mimicking every move of Mulder's tongue and fingers until he couldn't take it any more. He released Mulder, pulled himself away, and groped for the backpack.

"Now what?" Mulder groaned.

"Here."

Mulder sat up and his elbows to examine what Skinner had just slapped into his palm. "What is--? Walter! Is this a--a *cock* ring?"

"Yup. Put it on me."

"Where the hell--?"

"The same place where we got your leather pants. I picked it up while you were in the change room."

Mulder slid the ring over the top of his lover's glistening erection, down to the base, adjusting it carefully for a snug fit. "Why--?"

"I want you to fuck me first, then I'm gonna fuck you and make you come again." He dug lube out of the bottom the bag and handed it to Mulder, then extinguished the lamp. "Okay, babe?"

Mulder willed his hands not to shake as he squeezed the cool gel onto his fingers. "Jesus, Walter! Where do you come up with all these wild ideas?"

Skinner sighed as a slick finger began to probe his anus. "This place inspires me. *You* inspire me. Oh, God..."

It didn't take long to prepare his lover, and Mulder glided into him effortlessly. They kissed noisily as they coupled, Skinner's muzzled hard-on trapped between their sweat-dampened stomachs. It was the first time Walter Skinner had worn a cock ring, which, he felt, seemed to dissociate a man from his member. A truly strange feeling. Every jab to his prostate was delicious torment, and he selfishly but honestly wished that Mulder would hurry the hell up.

As if on cue, Mulder began pumping faster and, out of habit, reached down to bring Skinner to orgasm with him. A muffled cry of protest reminded him that this wasn't going to happen, and he removed his hand. He lifted his head and gazed down into Skinner's contorted face.

"Sorry, Walter," he rasped. "Forgot."

"S'okay. Just don't--don't scream. Too loud."

He almost did, though. It was all so intense and exciting--the spectacular natural setting, Skinner's powerful legs locked around him, the knowledge that his turn to be fucked into the sand was next...When he came, he pressed his face into Skinner's corded neck, the pounding surf and screeching gulls barely drowning out the sounds of his ecstasy.

Skinner gave Mulder time to catch his breath, stroking and kissing his fragrant hair. "Didn't mean to rush you, babe. This damned thing--"

"No problem. It was perfect." He slowly withdrew from Skinner's slick heat, manoeuvred down to groin level, and blew a shaky breath on the magnificent erection. "Can I take it off you now?"

Skinner closed his eyes in anticipated relief. "Yes. Oh, yes. But be careful. I have a feeling I may go off like a rocket once I'm unleashed."

"You're mixing your metaphors there, Seymour," Mulder snickered as he unfastened the cock ring.

"Smart ass. You want poetry tonight, or you wanna get fucked?"

There. It was off. "I want you. Deep inside me."

"Good answer. Then find the lube and come here."

It took Mulder a few frantic seconds to locate the half-empty tube on the dark blanket. He gave it to Skinner, who did a thorough job of slicking him up and stretching him while sucking his nipples. It all had the desired effect: Mulder was hard again.

"You ready?" Skinner asked redundantly as the younger man writhed and groaned.

"Yeah. Yeah. Gimme that lube." Mulder smeared Astroglide all over Skinner's cock. "How do you want me?"

"Sitting on top. I want you to be in the driver's seat."

"But Walter--"

"And I wanna watch you come again."

"I don't think--ahhh!" Mulder eased himself down onto his lover, his body relaxed and accepting. "I don't think you'll have to wait very long."

"Fine by me." Skinner bent his knees and dug his heels into the sand under the blanket, providing lower-back support. Once Mulder was comfortably settled, Skinner started stroking the rigid cock that was twitching against his flat belly. As Mulder pushed down, Skinner raised his hips, experimenting with different angles until Mulder howled with pleasure.

"Did I hit it?" Rhetorical question.

"Oh, yeah," Mulder panted while he rocked back and forth, grinding himself into Skinner's pelvis, Skinner's hands, holding onto Skinner's hips for leverage. "Big time. Keep going."

"Just tell me when."

"Not--not much longer..." He reached back with one hand, found Skinner's swollen sac, and rolled the testicles between his fingers. "Oh, God, Walter. Oh, God. OhGodohGodohGod!" He came somewhat more quietly than the first time, squirting between Skinner's fingers, spilling all over his abs. His sphincter muscles contracted--voluntarily and otherwise--and he locked eyes with Skinner just in time to watch him let go. He waited until Skinner finished jerking and shuddering and shouting before he slumped forward across the bigger man's body.

"Worth waiting for?" he puffed into Skinner's ear.

"Absolutely." He didn't know what to do with his gooey hands, then decided the stuff would make a good massage cream and starting rubbing it into Mulder's back.

Mulder was too out of it to notice. Or care. "Can I wear the cock ring sometime?"

Skinner grinned. "Sure. Whenever you want."

"I still can't believe you bought it."

"Neither can I. But I'm glad I did."

"Me, too. God, I could fall asleep like this."

"Not a good idea, Fox. We should get up and out of here before it starts to rain."

With a groan, Mulder slipped off Skinner, rolling onto his back beside him. "Got anything in that magic bag of yours to clean up with, Mary Poppins?"

"As a matter of fact, I--Oh, shit."

Mulder sat up. "What?"

"Too late."

"Huh?" A raindrop--a motherfucking *huge* one--landed on his shoulder. Another one hit his cheek. "Uh-oh."

Skinner scrambled to his feet, grabbed Mulder's hand, and pulled him up. "Off! Off!"

"Wha--? Oh." Mulder scampered off the blanket, and helped Skinner fold it and stuff it into the backpack, along with the flutes and empty champagne bottle. He was just shaking the sand out of his shorts--screw the briefs!--when the sky opened up. Before he had a chance to complain, he was grabbed by the wrist and pulled against an equally wet but more muscular chest. His hair was pushed out of his eyes and he saw Skinner smiling at him--a smile so genuine and beautiful that his heart ached.

"I love you," Skinner told him, reading his thoughts.

"I know. I love you, too. But shouldn't we--?"

Skinner kissed him, wiping his hands over Mulder's back, belly and genitals; combing the dark pubic hair with his fingers; tenderly parting Mulder's buttocks. The warm rain got into every crevice and rinsed away any lingering lube and cum.

Once Mulder was cleaned off, he performed the same ritual on Skinner's body, then stepped into the protective circle of his lover's arms and sighed.

"Putting on wet clothes is going to be a bitch, Walter. Especially if it keeps pouring like this."

But Skinner didn't care. He was a middle-aged bureaucrat in love with--and loved by--a sexy, vibrant and brilliant young man he'd been convinced was unattainable not that long ago. And now they were standing naked on a public beach, hugging, in a torrential downpour following one of the most incredible sexual experiences of their lives.

He threw back his head and laughed.

He felt wonderful. And invincible.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

One Week Later  
New York City

He stared at the changing images on his monitor.

Incredible. In-fucking-credible.

Oh, he'd known months ago that Walter Skinner was sleeping with Fox Mulder. At the time, he'd admired the stoic AD for using sex to keep his unruly subordinate in line. It never once fazed Alex Krycek that Skinner was fucking Mulder. He'd always figured that Skinner probably fucked anyone he wanted to, male or female. Maybe even that ice princess Dana Scully.

And Krycek had no problem understanding why Skinner would enjoy having Mulder go down on him. Quite frankly, the thought of those full lips wrapped around his own cock was a rather pleasant one.

But the grainy images on the screen before him--they completely altered his view of the world.

Because there was AD Skinner, the alpha male himself, sucking off *Mulder*. Being fucked *by* Mulder.

And how could the relationship be based on nothing but sex when the morons were wearing what appeared to be matching commitment rings?

They *loved* each other. They were *in love* with each other.

Jesus H. Christ.

This changed everything.

He knew that Skinner would gladly die for Mulder, so threatening to kill him--by reactivating the nanocytes--if he didn't cough up certain information about Mulder was now useless. Krycek realized that the only way to get Skinner to do his bidding was to threaten to hurt Mulder. Not physically; Mulder's body was indestructible, apparently. But his spirit? It would surely be destroyed if the few people he cared about were maimed or killed. His mother. His partner. His three geeky friends. And, eventually, his lover.

Krycek finally had Walter Skinner right where he wanted him, and would use his new-found knowledge to its best advantage when the time came.

He shut down the computer and put the kettle on for tea. But while he waited for the water to boil, Krycek continued to see the faces and bodies of the two men he would one day likely have to separate. Saw them kissing and holding one another. Saw the rings. Saw the fading remains of a love bite on Mulder's ass. It made him feel uneasy about his current assignment.

And this bothered him. Bothered him immensely.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Fini  
December 8, 1999

  
Archived: April 10, 2001 


End file.
